


Message in a Skin Mag

by Idkitiswhatitis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Because Nick is scary, Bottom Dean Winchester, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Diary/Journal, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heterosexual Sex, Imagined sex, It's AU!Bobby and Nick, Light Bondage Off Screen, M/M, Mary Winchester Leaves, Men of Letters Bunker, Minor Character Death, Minor Chracter Death Off-Screen, Nipple Licking, Past Drug Use, Post-Season/Series 13 AU, Sexy Journal Writings, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt Seen in a Vision, Temporary Character Death, Wincest - Freeform, and AU!Bobby was mean about Sammy, bound wrists, incestuous thoughts, once written and once in a dream, only for a hot second and not during sex, sounds like real life, temporary visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 19:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 33,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idkitiswhatitis/pseuds/Idkitiswhatitis
Summary: After Michael!Dean vanishes, Sam mourns for Dean. In Dean's room, he finds a journal written to Sam.





	1. Hidden Drawers Are Convenient

**Author's Note:**

> A little fic in excitement for season 14 :)
> 
> There will be angst.
> 
> Unbeta'd
> 
> COMPLETE as of May 14, 2019

The bunker isn't safe. Sam knows the bunker is compromised, but, before he can worry about warding out an archangel, before he can save his brother, Sam has to tend to Jack. Stitches in place, pints of blood flushed into his system, Jack is weak and tired. Even though he knows Michael could show up at any moment, Sam feels safer here than anywhere else.

Mary and Bobby are asking question after question. "Sam, where's Dean?" "Sam, what's going on?" "Sam, are we safe?" "Sam, what do we do?" "Sam! Sam! Sam!"

The constant litany tries his nerves.

"Bobby, find Cas and look through the library. We need something, anything, that might keep Micheal out," Sam orders quickly in a terse voice. Bobby tosses a glance his way before departing. Sam struggles to keep Jack upright. "And keep everyone inside. No one leaves until we have some form of protection."

"Mom," Sam looks somewhere over her left shoulder, "uh, med kit. Meet me in Jack's room."

Jack coughs and lets out a moan.

"Hold on, man. Just a little further." A long moment of pushing and shoving and maneuvering has Jack on his bed. Sam pokes and prods at the bandage. Jack winces at each touch.

Mary enters a few moments later with the medical supplies. Sam avoids looking at her by adjusting Jack's shirt. He avoids Jack's glance, too.

"He needs painkillers. You got it?" Sam asks. 

"Yes." She fishes around in the med kit and eventually hands a white pill over to Jack. "Sam, about Dean—" she starts.

"Mom, I can't. Not now." He lifts himself from the bed to stand in the doorway. His chin tips toward his chest. "Give me a few minutes. Find me if you need anything."

He escapes quickly to find himself standing outside of room 11. The door to Dean's room looks like every other door to all the other bedrooms. Inside will be the same furnishings as the others. Sam knows, though, the unique Dean-things that remain inside. Sam will find weapons and a few cheap skin mags. Maybe a few hidden whiskey bottles.

Sam traces one of the number ones with his index finger. He sighs and pushes the door open.

Dean's smell smacks him in the face, if you count body odor and whiskey as Dean's smell. He flicks the light on and shuts the door behind him. His normally clean room has clothes hastily strewn about. A knife and spare handgun rest on the bed. Sam picks up the weapons. He fingers them a moment before sitting at Dean's desk to clean them. He opens a few drawers to look for the gun oil and cleaning supplies. He finds them in the bottom drawer. He pulls them out and begins unloading the gun.

An internal warning starts to blare. He sets the gun down and opens the lowest drawer again. With a frown, he knocks on the bottom. Hollow. Sam tilts his head. He pries the wood up.

To his amusement, he is greeted by a Busty Asians magazine.

"Why would you hide this?" Sam whispers to himself with a sad snort. He shifts the mag to see what else is in the drawer, but there's nothing.

"Hm," he hums. He picks up the magazine and carelessly flips through it. His frown deepens when he finds lined notebook paper filling the inside instead of porn.

"Dean, what...?"

Sam's eyes skip through the pages before him. A long moment passes before he realizes he is holding a journal of sorts. The front page is filled with scratchy, messy writing. He flips ahead to see Dean has filled pages more than halfway through the book.

He returns to the first page. There is no date or any clue as to when Dean started the journal. Sam begins to read.

 

* * *

 

_You remember a few years ago, those werewolves in Idaho? Grangeville. Fuckin' Corbin. I left you alone with him. He strangled you. Lunatic. The only way I would've left you alone, Sammy, is if I thought you were dead, really dead. You knew that, huh? You asked me, "What did you do?" I lied. You knew I lied, but you let me._

_Well, what I fuckin' did is swallow a handful of barbital. I was gonna bargain with Death to bring you back._

_Only, there was nothing to bargain for, 'cause you weren't dead._

_So, yeah, by the time you called, I knew you weren't dead. Billie let me go, because, well, the doctor brought me back. "Wasn't my time," or some shit like that. Otherwise, Sam, I would've—_

_I would have been ok with it._

 

* * *

 

"Damn it, Dean," Sam whispers to the book. He dabs at his eyes, not entirely surprised.

Of course he remembers Corbin. Guy tried to kill him, but Sam ended up killing him. One of those strange role-reversal things.

He remembers, too, how clingy Dean was after the incident. Making excuses to help him down the urgent care stairs. Patting his shoulder every few minutes on the way out of town. Checking on him over and over at the bunker, even after Sam insisted he was fine. Not just that, he was acting strangely, too. Exhausted. Weak. Tired. Sam had attributed it to the whole experience, but, to see Death, Dean had been dead. Sam hadn't even seen Death.

Dean killed himself because he thought Sam was dead.

"Stop sacrificing yourself, man." He bows his head over the pages and breathes. The pages beneath his hands become wet. He curses and dabs at the moisture with his sleeve. "Death" and "barbital" smear at the touch. Hesitantly, he turns the page.

 

* * *

 

_The best part of the Mark of fuckin' Cain was feeling powerful. And, Sam, I just wish I would feel that again. I'm weak and tired. So tired. I look in the mirror and can't imagine how time could have passed leaving me lookin' so old. I won't make it much longer. It's not how our lives were meant to be lived._

_***_

_Have you noticed I'm always dyin'? The bad time, with the faith healer, long ago. My heart was givin' out. You wouldn't let me die. If you knew what we knew now, would you have let me go?  The way we live, takes a toll, Sammy. Hard to live for tomorrow if you ain't sure you're gonna make it to it._

_***_

_I'm in my room. You and Jack are practicing or some shit. I dunno. I don't want him here. 'Nother story for a 'nother day._

_I miss Cas. I'm too mad to talk with you. Too much in my head. You're the one always making me talk, Sammy. Now you ain't and I need something. By the way, you ever read this? I'll rip your balls off and feed 'em to some hellhounds. Mind your own goddamned business._

 

* * *

 

Sam is able to laugh. He closes the book for now. He tucks it securely back into its drawer and replaces the false bottom. He finishes with the gun and puts everything away. A breath gusts out as he pushes away from the table. He'll check on Jack, have some dinner, and maybe read a little more before bed.


	2. More Problems, Fewer Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns some of Dean's hidden feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating went up. It's not specifically for this chapter but take note. It's mostly because diary Dean uses language that didn't fit into my idea of teen language.  
> Unbeta'd.  
> Enjoy :)

Sam is attacked by Bobby as soon as he steps into the hallway.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Hey, look at this. Tell me what you think." Bobby shoves a tome under his nose with a fifteen minute justification for a certain spell's veracity for keeping out archangels.

He finally finishes with, "Castiel believes it'll work." Bobby's worried eyes lacking confidence pulls at a place in his chest he'd rather not think about at the moment. Sam stares at the spiraling Enochian for a long moment and pretends to understand what he's reading. He gives up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair.

"If Cas says, so, then do it. In the meantime, keep looking."

Bobby nods and hurries down the hallway ahead of Sam. Sam pokes into Jack's room, sees him sleeping, and continues on into the kitchen.

His trek takes seven minutes longer than usual. He is stopped by three people. Two are frantic and asking about their upcoming demise. One is his mother asking if he is ok. His reply to all three is the same: a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Let them take it how they may.

The kitchen is stuffed with the tension-ridden refugees muttering in hushed voices. When Sam enters, questions begin again.  
"Are we safe?" "What do we do now?" "Can we leave yet?" "What's going to happen to us?"

"Hey, hey!" Sam yells over the din, waving his arms. "We are doing our best. Castiel found a special warding spell to put around the bunker. This place may be compromised, but it's still the safest place for us, alright? Stay here, stay calm, and we will get through this." 

The crowd stills for a moment before starting up the muttering again. Sam fights against rolling his eyes. Someone hands a plate to him through the people. He smiles at Charlie and takes the proffered goods. She turns away without a word. He steals out of the room. The War Room isn't any less crowded than the kitchen. He hurries back down the hallway and finds himself, again, outside of Dean's room.

He reenters and sets his plate on Dean's nightstand. He grabs the journal from its hiding spot and makes himself comfortable on the bed by spreading his legs out before him and reclining against the headboard. He picks up where he left off.

 

* * *

 

_I don't understand when people say I’m selfless, or that I sacrifice too much for you. I kept you in this game. I should have made you go back to Stanford after we killed Yellow Eyes. I should have tried harder to hide the demon deal from you. I should have watched you go off into the California sunset and died quietly, alone. I ain't selfless, Sam. I ain't._

 ***

_Sam, I—_

 ***

_One time, there was this girl. Tall, brunette. Legs for days. Kinda freaky. She wanted it from behind. Man, she was tight and clamped down hard every time she came. Best orgasm I'd had in, well, awhile._

_After, I was supposed to be leavin', but I stood at the door watching her sleep. She was all, just all spread eagle across the bed we'd ruined. Thighs open and willing. Boobs spillin' out either side. I was half hard lookin' at her. She rolled over, 'cause of the light on her face, with a soft grunt. Man, her sighs and moans rang in my ears._

_Whew. It was hot. She was so hot. I stood there way longer than I outta, holding the doorframe, rubbing against my jeans and trying to will myself to walk away. I only ended up being able to 'cause you texted me. It was something about a case. You'd gotten a lead, maybe? I don't remember._

_I shut the door, turned to leave, but my boner didn't die down. You on my mind and my cock was at full attention. What. The. Fuck._

_It took imagining Bobby in a tutu to clear some of the, what, lust?_

_That fuckin' brunette, dude. Looking at her, thinking about banging her, fast and dirty, then your text. I got all fucked up. Her breathy, "Ah, ah, ahs," became low grunts. It wasn't soft, curvy hips under my fingers. It was hard, lean muscle. "Come on, baby," became---Yeah, gotta stop there._

_Bobby in a tutu. Bobby in a pink tutu. With tights. Pink tights._

_Ughhhhh. Gross._

_Yeah, well, anyway, that was the first time I had that kind of thought. Wish I could say it was the last, but, nah, you know me. I hold onto shit forever and try not to think about it ever again. Ha, yeah, I end up thinking about it all the time._

_I should say it, quit alluding to it, and just name it._

_But, yeah, I can't. Ever._

 

* * *

 

Sam rereads Dean's entry with a frown.

_I should say it, quit alluding to it, and just name it._

He closes the book with a snap and tosses it to the side. He jumps out of Dean's bed and brushes his pants off. He feels…he feels contaminated?

Dean, he…

Dean feels…

But they're goddamned fucking brothers!

Not _fucking_ brothers!

A frustrated grunt escapes his mouth. He paces and tries to ignore the fact that his sex grunt is surprisingly similar to his frustrated grunt.

"Damn it!" He flips over the desk chair. Then quickly regrets it and straightens it. As he does so, the open drawer he'd left in his haste to read the journal is slammed shut by the chair's leg. The desk lamp sways dangerously. As he reaches for it, the lamp tumbles over. Sam grabs the lamp before it can fall off the table completely. A flash of yellow catches his eye.

On the underside of the lamp, now visible, is a piece of folded steno pad paper. It's attached with a little bit of duct tape. Sam picks at the tape and plies the loosened paper off. He unfolds it quickly to find a key inside. He flips it over but finds nothing printed on it. He fingers the edge.

"Where have I seen you before?" he asks the key.

A sharp rap at the door draws his attention away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should add that this story is solely for me. I adore diary fics, and not like, "Dad's Diary" fics, but like, "secrets-about-feelings diary" fics. I've not written much sexy stuff so bear with me as we advance. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	3. More Answers, But Not Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Mary kind of fight. Sam and the bunker crew try to figure out what to do with Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: I did watch the teaser trailer and incorporated a few elements. 
> 
> Not spoiler: I made crap up after that. I've not read any fan theories so I'm not trying to have stolen any ideas for season 14. I'm not super clever. Just a bit of a pit of plot.

Sam quickly pockets the key with shaking hands.

"Come in!" he yells. Mary barges in, lines pronounced around her eyes.

"Sam, what happened?" Her voice is panicked. Her eyes scan the room for a threat.

He stares at her longer than he should before he realizes what she means. The chair must have made some noise.

"Oh, I, uh, it's fine, Mom. It's nothing. I, the chair," he finishes lamely pointing at the desk. He remembers the Busty Asian cover on Dean's diary and feels himself blush. Hopefully she hasn't looked that way yet. His mouth keeps spewing to keep her attention focused on him. "I was frustrated, made a mess. Yeah, uh, so it's ok. You can go back to doing, ya know, whatever.

Sam knows he is obvious. He is obviously hiding something. Obviously. He is hoping his mom will let it be, though. She is a tough hunter. Dean's emotional constipation came from more than their father.

"Sam—" she starts.

"Mom, I'm fine, really. I'm just, I dunno, in shock or something." Sam shifts from foot to foot. His hands scrub down the front of his jeans. He is not exactly lying. The journal did put him in one hell of an emotional state.

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?" Mary steps up to Sam. She places a gentle hand on the side of his face. The sweetness of it does nothing to calm his insides.

"No, Mom. I can't." He turns his face away and steps back from her. "I wanted..." He pauses and forces out a hard breath. "I wanted a mother, all my life, but, now…You're here and the person I want most isn't."

"Sam—"

"Mom, don't you get it? You left us, not once, not twice. All you do is leave. You would leave us again in an instant. You want to leave. I don't want to talk to you. Please, just, I need to, I just…You're not who I need right now." Sam runs shaking fingers through his hair. Mary grips his bicep tightly. Her voice is steel.

"No, I know. But, I'm here anyway. I won't apologize, Sam. This is my chance for a second life, and I'll take it however it comes. I'll always love you, my baby boy, but it is different. I can't be the mother you wished for. You aren't the son I wanted. But right now, this is war. We have a job to do. We don't have time for pity parties and feelings. You've been our leader today, and you need to keep being one. Get out of your brother's room, quit moping, and help us come up with a plan of action."

She gives his arm one last squeeze. "We're meeting in the War Room in five minutes," she adds before walking out of the room.

Sam's heart clenches. At some point, his mother's voice had become his brother's. 

 

* * *

 

"We have added three additional Enochian spells around the bunker," Cas announces to the impromptu leadership committee. The group sadly consists of only Cas, Bobby, Mary, Charlie, and Sam. They take seats at one end of the War Room table. Sam at the head, Bobby and Charlie to the left, and Cas and Mary on the right. 

"Has anyone heard from Rowena?" Sam begins. He rests his elbows on the table and speaks quietly. He avoids looking at Mary and focuses on Charlie.

"I don't know." Charlie shifts under his gaze. Sam stares a long moment at her. Mary interrupts his silent investigation.

"She's headed to—"

"Nowhere," Charlie interrupts. "She is, you know, travelling. Seeing the world." She stares daggers at Mary who looks back and forth between Charlie and Sam. Sam sits back at the blatant lie.

"Ok," he says slowly. "So, uh, Rowena is travelling. Is the plan to have Rowena kill Dean?"

No one answers his inquiry. The room is heavy and starts to feel warm. Sam runs a hand through his hair. Still, no one speaks or meets his gaze.

"Fine," he finally says, "any word from Ketch?"

"In the wind," Mary replies. Sam gives her a look. She answers with a shrug. "What? I had to do something while you were moping about."

"No, no, I mean, it's fine." The two share a tense look before Sam turns to Bobby. "Anything on Michael?"

"We're at ten hours and the world hasn't been blown up yet. That's something. But, then again, in our world, he had all of the angels at his disposal." Sam nods slowly before tensing up.

"Shit." His eyes glaze as he sees Michael's next move. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Sam? What is it?" Mary asks.

Sam turns his attention to Cas. "How many angels did you say were in heaven right now?"

"Very few. Less than ten." Cas sits up at his inquiry. His eyes pique with interest.

"Heaven is not a great place for henchmen at the moment…" Sam trails off.

"No, but, you can't possibly mean—"

"There's a power vacuum in hell right now." The room falls dead still. The tenseness from before returns. Bobby rubs at his forehead in frustration. Charlie's mouth opens and closes. Cas splays his fingers on the table, knuckles white. Mary fiddles with the sleeve at her wrist.

"Angels at least killed us off quickly," Bobby finally says, "but, demons? Easy to kill, but more of 'em. Shoot, they don't play by the rules. They'll torture everyone."

"Ideas, guys, we need some ideas."

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, their white board has been filled up and wiped off four times. Their best ideas include locking Michael in heaven to keep it powered up, or to open the rift and shove Michael back in. Of the scenarios they'd thought up, exactly none have a happy ending for Dean. If only Chuck would return and fix everything. 

The group splits up for the night. Sam watches everyone file out of the room, exhausted. He is backlogged on sleep, but, right now, all he wants is to get really, really drunk. He lets out a defeated sigh and begins the trek back to his room. He pauses at Dean's door. There's gotta be some alcohol in there. And questionable reading material. He pushes open the door and enters, better judgement be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if Mary isn't pleasant. I needed her to be the tough one for right now.


	4. The Angst Continues Increasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst of Dean's journal increases. Surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd
> 
> Dean mentions some sketchy therapy stuff he's tried. 
> 
> Warning for more suicidial thoughts.

_Sammy, close your eyes to this. Ugh, Sam, don't read this fuckin' shit. I'm not getting better. I keep thinking about fucking you, and it's, it's…Shit, man. It's not ok. But, I don't know what to do about it. Trying to push it away makes it worse. Fantasizing makes it worse. There's no fucking cure. I've tried._

_Ever heard of conversion therapy? The doc shows a pic. If ya get a boner, you get shocked. The idea is, like, I dunno, he called it conditioning or something. Didn't work._

_Problem with the source material. I told him about the Supernatural books and the fandom crap. He went and found drawings people had made of us in…compromising positions. Shit, he ended up putting thoughts in my head I ain't ever thought of. Being shocked sucks, yeah, but I've had worse. Apparently, conditioning don't work on me._

_Therapy, then, left me with burn marks and masturbatory material._

_Awesome._

_***_

_I've kept a knife or a gun under my pillow for as long as I can remember. I don't know when it switched from being for protection to an escape._

_***_

_You and Jack are at it again. Practicing. He's like your kid. It's weird. I've been a dad to you for so long, that I can't even imagine you being a dad. You're still a kid. A kid about to hit middle age._

_If I stopped seeing you as a kid needing to be taken care of, maybe I could walk away. Maybe I could let go. The next time…you ain't coming with me. I will fight tooth and nail to ensure you stay safe, you stay alive. You're more changeable, Sammy. You say you need me, too, but, nah. It's not the same. Given the opportunity to escape, you take it. You take it and you thrive. I hate it, but I need to know you can survive without me._

_One day, I won't be able to put the gun down. One day, I'll be gone. You'll find this fuckin' diary. You'll read all this shit I lug around. And you'll be glad I'm gone. You'll be relieved to avoid this conversation. You'll finally hate me as much as I do. No secrets. No hiding. You'll finally know how fucked up your big brother is. You'll finally let me die in peace. Finally, you'll be at peace. You'll leave hunting. You'll leave this life. You'll start a family and be normal. And you'll be happy._

 

* * *

 

Sam stares at the page, heart too full to name the emotions swirling before his eyes. Tear stains dot Dean's writing. The dried splotches crinkle under Sam's gentle touch. New dark blots join the existing. "Happy" is smeared away.

Sam slides off of Dean's bed. He tucks the journal back into its secret compartment. He leaves the room the way he found it earlier that day, dark and empty.

 

* * *

 

Too keyed up to sleep, Sam wanders the quiet halls. He finds his way to the dungeon. He imagines Dean's body tied to the chair in the devil's trap. He turns away with a sigh.

His feet move him out of the bunker and into the garage. He runs his hands over the top of the Impala. Sand catches under his fingers. He can hear Dean yelling at him for scratching the paint. He shakes the voice away.

He slides into the passenger seat. He slinks down until his head rests in the cozy spot between the window and seat. He stares out the window. Weariness amplifies, and yet numbs, the jumbled thoughts in his head.

No question, Dean wants to die. But, now, though, there is a distinct possibility Sam may have to kill him, if he can. The threat Michael poses is too great.

Sam throws an arm over his eyes. Heat rises in his face. In moments, his sleeve is sticky and damp with tears.

"This is so fuckin' hopeless." He pulls his arm away from his face and scrubs at the remaining wetness. He slumps further down in the seat. He is rougher than he means to be and knocks his knees in to the glove box.

"Ow," Sam mutters in his pathetic voice. He rubs his knee and frowns. With a start, he digs in his front pocket for the key he had found in Dean's room. He tries the lock.

"Of fucking course."

The mechanism opens easily, as if it'd been oiled hours ago. He pulls the latch. It opens with a creak. The spring is broken, and the metal flops hard on his knee. He rubs the spot it hit as he looks over the contents inside the compartment.

At first, he finds nothing unusual. He sees their various false registrations, insurance, gum wrappers, and the like. He pulls out the papers and sifts through them. A flash of color catches his eye, then another, and another.

Apparently, Dean was allowed to keep the masturbatory material from the therapist. Or, maybe he went online and found the pictures he liked. Either way, Sam pales at the pictures before him.

Honestly, the men pictured look nothing like Sam and Dean. Sam is portrayed entirely too muscular. Dean is not nearly so slight. Their faces are generically male. The sex positions are, you know, sex positions. One has the Sam character sucking off the Dean character. One is of Dean penetrating Sam. Not very creative.

They mean something to Dean, though. Dean finds these pictures arousing. Dean is ashamed of feeling aroused from these pictures.

Sam sighs and hugs the pictures to his chest.

"I…Dean…I don't care," he speaks to the air.

One page slips from the rest. Sam holds it up to analyze it, too. The Dean character is on his side, a hand wrapped around Sam's cock. Sam's character is sprawled out. Apparently, he's lost control of his limbs in the throes of passion, and his arms are flailing about. Their foreheads meet, eyes locked.

"Dean, come back. Please, come back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of conversion therapy with aversion therapy was pretty popular many years ago. It was used on homosexuals and pedophiles. IT IS NOT OK. Just wanted y'all to know that. It's banned in a lot of places and considered unethical. Real therapists wouldn't suggest, much less perform it. Dean's a drama llama, so 'course he'd try the WORST POSSIBLE THING to "cure" himself.


	5. Ignoring the Present Indefinitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean describes another fantasy. Sam is not unaffected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.

Sam finally caves to his body's exhaustion while clutching three of the smutty drawings. A cramp in his neck has him up again a few hours later. He doesn’t try to sleep more. He folds the drawings and stuffs them in his pocket. He relocks the glove box and exits the Impala. He leaves Baby with a gentle pat.

The kitchen is dark. He starts coffee and grabs a protein bar. After it's brewed, Sam ignores responsibility and returns to Dean's room. No one else is awake yet anyway.

Sam sits at the desk and flips open the journal. He pulls out the drawings. He glances over them one more time before setting them in front of the first page of writing.

Sam tries, really tries, to tell himself to stop reading. He tries to put the journal back into its hiding place. His curiosity overcomes propriety.

He flips to where he left off. The next entry is filled with rushed, cramped writing. Sam almost can't read the scrunched lettering.

 

* * *

 

 _I imagine three fingers, pumpin' in and out. You whine when I hit your prostrate. You know what sound I'm talking about, when you've stubbed your toe but are tryin' to be manly about it._

_You're squeezin' the headboard, shaking. You wanna push back into me. You can't because then you might want it too much. Faster, faster, harder, harder. Over and over. You start flinching at the touch, a hair's breath away from climax._

_I can't take it anymore. Fuckin' aching and leaking. I line up and shove in._

_You tense and howl like a monkey, but like, a sexy one. Your whines are whimpers now. No one else has had you this way before. No one knows you like me. You would never let anyone touch you like this except for me. Only me._

_In, out. Faster. Your head drops to the mattress. I'm bruisin' your hips squeezing so hard, but, I don't give a fuck. Your tight heat, a little too dry, is perfect._

_The bed is creakin'. You're screamin'. Sexed up words are probably slippin' outta my mouth. We're both too far gone to know._

_Then you're clenching, shuddering, and it's too fucking much—_

 

* * *

 

Sam looks down at his crotch in surprise. His left hand is squeezing at his balls. His cock is fully erect and aching. When did his hand even move?

"What the fuck," he curses at himself.

The mental image of Dean shoving his cock in Sam's ass is—

"Shit. Fuck!"

Sam throws down the journal and jams his right hand down his pants. He coats his fingers in precome and strokes fast and hard. He imagines Dean's short callused fingers over his own. Before he can analyze it too much, Sam comes in his pants thinking about sex with his brother.

His face blushes. He wipes his hands on his boxers. He stands and retrieves a few tissues from the box next to Dean's bed. He tries not to think about why Dean has tissues next to his bed.

"Dean, you can't just spring this shit outta nowhere! At least give me some warning!"

His angry whispers belie his true irritation. It's fine and all for Dean to have these, these, what? Incestuous feelings? But for Sam…Sam is better than that. He's the normal one. He doesn't have—

The come cooling between his legs stops his thoughts. He is the fucking same as his brother.

His feet carry him back to the desk. With a heavy heart, he sits and stares at his brother's handwriting. It's more legible. Sam keeps reading.

 

* * *

_Cocaine binge and writing. Awesome._

_I get fucking horny using. Always have. I forget. It's usually not a problem. Fuck the nearest thing. Sleep it off. Didn't have a partner this last time. You were off doing Sam stuff. I was alone in my room with only some paper and a boner. So, I guess this is what I do now. Write._

_There's come all over this page. Sorry. Maybe just, don't read this._

_Wash your hands._

_***_

_Before you start--Drugs are bad. Drugs are stupid. I know, but, shit, man, sometimes I need a fuckin' hit to keep from jumping off a cliff._

_***_

_Aw, fuck it. You ain't readin' this. I can write whatever the fuck I want._

_***_

_One guy on the internet, he says he's a therapist, says journaling is good 'cause it helps with processing, or some shit like that. Vocalizing suppressed desires._

_Maybe? He might be right. I just know that when I start writing and thinking you may hold this between your hands, shit man. I get hard, fast._

_Mortified, yeah. But, so fucking hard._

_***_

_Scrolling fanfic sites, I found this one artist who is…extremely realistic and graphic. I hadn't thought about bottoming, but the way she draws you fucking me, maybe._

_~~Sam, would this be, not ok, but tolerable, if I let you top?~~ _

_Shit, Dean. You're asking the Sam in your head? The fuck--_

_NONE OF THIS IS REAL. You don't fuck Sam. He sure as hell hasn't fucked you. It ain't happening in the future. What is_ wrong _with you? Die, fucker. Just die, already. You deserve it._

 

* * *

 

"Fuck you, Dean. Fuck you." Sam throws the journal back into the drawer. He stomps out of the room and to the bathroom. He quickly showers and washes his boxers. 

He awkwardly runs into Bobby. This Bobby barely nods at Sam's bare chest and towel before continuing on his way. Sam shakes his head at the surreal moment.

His temper is still hot as he reenters his room. He keeps muttering to Dean under his breath.

"You don't get to say shit like that!" Sam throws open a drawer and digs for some boxers. "Fuck, Dean. Nobody thinks that about you except you! You little shit. If you were here right now, I'd, I'd...I dunno but I wouldn't let you say—" He trips as he rips off the towel and slides the boxers on. He grunts in exasperation and struggles with the rest of his clothing.

A brilliant idea begins to take form.

He frantically searches through his own desk and finds a mostly empty composition notebook. He takes out a pen and begins his own letter to his brother.


	6. Sometimes You Can't Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam begins a letter to Dean. The team formulates a plan to defeat Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

_Dean, you still will never hear me say you are anything but a good man. As misguided as you can be to save me, I know you, Dean. You are good. Nothing you could say would make me change my mind about you. I love you, Dean. Always._

_What the fuck would killing yourself do to help me, huh? Your life's mission is to protect me. You can't do that while dead._

_I wish you would have talked to me about this. All the guilt you're holding onto? It's not going to go away by talking to some illegitimate shrink practicing some sketchy medicine. Yeah, I looked up conversion therapy. Why did you do it? Actually, I know why. You would rather suffer physical pain for your guilt than talk to me about it. Therapy only works, Dean, if you're willing to change._

_The point, Dean--all of these things you're feeling, did it ever occur to you I might not react negatively?_

_I love you. No matter what, jerk. I can't hate you, and I won't._

_If you did kill yourself—_

_Dean, I'd be right behind. Haven't we already worked this out? One of us goes, the other follows._

_I wasn't lying. I wasn't being dramatic, or whatever you think. I'm not "fine" when you're gone. I'm a nutcase. I'm numb. I'm not me. There is no happiness for me when you're gone. Quit talkin' like you mean as much to me as, I dunno, a sandwich or something. There's a metaphor in that probably, but, you know what I mean._

_Actually, no you don't. I keep telling you and you keep disregarding it._

_Fuck you, Dean. You don't get to decide what your worth is to me. I do._

_What would you think, what would you feel, if you found a journal with the same things written in it? If I wrote what you wrote, would you feel the way you think I would?_

 

* * *

 

Sam looks down at his writing, disappointed. His anger had morphed into grief. Grief into loss of words. How do you begin to convey to someone how much they mean to you when they are determined not to hear? 

Sam throws down the pen and abandons his mission for the time being.

He exits his room with renewed drive to accomplish something. He will figure out how to save Dean. He always has, when he's tried. He'll do it again.

More people are active now than when he first woke up. He grabs another cup of coffee and enters the War Room. Bobby and Cas are whispering quietly to one another.

"Morning," Sam calls.

"Sam, look at this," Cas replies tersely by way of greeting. Cas sits at the table. Bobby peers over his shoulder at the laptop in front of him. Sam sits next to Cas who points to the screen.

"A binding spell?" Sam reads. He stares blankly at the bunker database page. "Cas, what does this spell do? Where did you find it?"

Cas pauses a long moment before answering, "Angels do not require physical bodies."

"Right."

"Our strength is unlimited in our celestial form." Cas nods his head to convey a deeper meaning. After a moment, Sam follows his point.

"Oh, so we force Michael out of Dean, into his celestial form, and bind him in heaven. Like Lucifer's cage. Michael becomes the new heaven battery, and we save Dean." Sam looks between Bobby and Cas when neither replies. "Right?"

"…Mostly," Cas finally says.

"What does that mean? What do we need? How does it work?"

"The spells are similar. We need an iron cage surrounded by holy fire with an Angel's Trap inscribed inside. The Book of the Damned contains the spell and other required ingredients," Cas starts.

"Have we gotten ahold of Rowena?" Sam leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, the shortage of sleep forgotten. The possibility of a plan forming jumpstarts his brain into action. Before he can add anything, Bobby shifts behind them.

"Uh, yeah, she told us last night. Charlie met up with her a few hours ago." Bobby's eyes shuffle around the room as he speaks. Sam's heart clenches.

"Wait—" A horrible realization pounds on his sternum.

"Mary went, too," Bobby adds in a gruff voice. The toes of his right foot trace a tiny pattern on the floor.

"Cas—" he tries, but Cas interrupts before a question materializes.

"We thought it was better this way." Cas looks down at the keyboard, shame in his shoulders. "If something goes wrong, Mary and Charlie will do what needs to be done. Ketch will rendezvous with them and be prepared to—"

"Ketch? Ketch is involved? How did you know where he was? How did you know where Michael was going to be?" Sam asks, incredulous. His ears and face burn.

Another silence. "We never lost him."

"Michael has been broadcasting on angel radio. He wants us to know of his plans to dominate Hell." Cas reaches forward and runs his fingers over a set of documents before him. Eyes sad, he hands Sam their work since Dean disappeared.

Sam flips through the pages before tossing them onto the table. "Why involve me at all if you were only going to hide this from me?" Sam roars.

"Sam, it's for the best. You've been sulking in Dean's room. This—Michael--is a big deal. We're talking about saving the world. Dean's devotion to you is what brought this calamity upon us. If we don't—"

Sam hears nothing else. He storms back to his room and picks up his letter to Dean.

 

* * *

_It could all go wrong. I could lose you in a matter of hours. I won't even know, if you died. I won't get a final goodbye, or a, 'don't get dead," moment. No more hugs, or, fuck, anything._

_Heaven could close any day if it's not powered by more angels. There is no way in hell that Hell would allow us to see one another when we both die. You could be gone. I could really lose you forever._

_I could lose you with you thinking I don't know._

_Fuck! Dean, I wish you had let Lucifer kill me. How could you let Michael in? When have deals with powerful beings EVER WORKED?_

_Just, come back to me, Dean. Please. Don't die. I'm not ready to…_

_We need to talk about this at least, before—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff-hanger. Sorry. 
> 
> LOL
> 
> Said no writer ever.
> 
> A few more chapters to this little fella then we're done :)


	7. Angel Radio as a Cheap Plot Device

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gives Sam a message from Dean. Sad, Sam continues his letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'more smut :) And more importantly, angst.
> 
> Unbeta'd

"Sam?" A soft voice interrupts Sam's pen. He jumps and throws the pen on the table.

"Jack, why are you up? Hey, sit down." Sam carefully helps him sit down on his bed. Jack flinches when he reclines back.

"I heard them," he answers wearily.

"Who? Dean?" Sam immediately perks up.

Jack shakes his head. "No, well, Dean and Michael. Or, maybe Dean through Michael? It's angel radio. I have enough grace left to pick up bits and pieces." Jack resituates himself on the mattress and rubs a hand gingerly over his wound. A weak cough flutters out of his mouth.

"What did he say?" Jack refuses to meet his eyes. He picks at the bedspread instead. "Jack! What did he say?"

"'I'm sorry. Tell Sam, I'm sorry.'" His voice breaks. He leans his head against the headboard with a defeated expression.

"Wait, what else? There has to be more. He wouldn't—"

"Nothing, Sam," Jack interrupts. "He didn't say anything else."

"But, Jack, he…Dean would have…Jack …I don't... He always comes back."

"I'm sorry, Sam. This is my fault. I trusted Lucifer. If I had listened to you, this never would have happened. Dean wouldn't have…he'd still be…" Jack's voice putters out and tears stream down his face. Something in Sam breaks. He watches Jack with a blank expression.

"Let me know if you hear anything else." Sam jumps from the bed and escapes from the room. He hears Jack call his name. Several people attempt to talk to him. Sam ignores them all. Instead, he races to the Impala and starts her up. The rumbling purr gives clarity to his intentions. He backs out of the bunker garage, then peels out, tires squealing.

 

The lake on the edge of town is hardly large enough to be called a lake. Sam has only been there a few times on his own. The wind rising off the water brushes a calming tsunami into his face. The roar of the wind leaves no room for thought. The sun stings his eyes. The fishy smell of the lake stings his nose. His senses are completely overwhelmed and keeping his heart from beating out of his chest.

Wind-burned cheeks finally send him back into the car. The messages waiting on his phone do little to comfort him: an apology and explanation from Mary, an inquiry from Cas, and another apology from Jack. Sam tosses the phone onto the passenger's seat. He is rougher than he intends to be. The phone jumps out of the seat to bang on the glove box before falling on the floor.

Frowning, Sam pulls the key out of the ashtray, where he had left it earlier, and opens the glove box. The porn pages are hidden where he had found them. He pulls them out, now, though. A total of about ten pages are hidden within. Were he not so upset, his loins may have been stirred at the images before him. As it is, though, the idea of arousal leaves Sam feeling slightly nauseous.

"Dean? If you're, if you're on angel radio, I…Can you hear me? At all? I need to tell you something. You don't get to apologize, jerk. You come back and you tell me how much of an idiot you are. Tell Michael he can't use you anymore. Break free, Dean. It's what you're good at. Force him out and come back to me. I can't do this without out you. Please, Dean. Hear my prayer. Come back."

When nothing happens, Sam waits. And waits. He receives no messages. No one speaks in his mind. No one magically appears in the passenger's seat to guide his way.

Sam is alone.

 

Returning to the bunker requires more effort than Sam realized would be required. It's late. The lights are darkened. Everything is quiet. Sam slips softly into his bedroom. It's the same as when he left it. The desk lamp is on. The letter he had started to Dean is sprawled open on his desk. His face blushes and he hopes Jack was too ashamed to read it.

He pulls the journal closer. He scribbles circles with the pen in the corner of the page to get the ink flowing. He writes again.

 

* * *

 

_The first time I read about your, uh…, well, sexual attraction to me, I was baffled. And, well, I did feel contaminated. I felt, feel…confused. Lost._

_But, it planted a seed. Or maybe watered one that was already there. Fuck, Dean, now I'm thinking 'bout fucking you. Thinking about you thinking about me thinking about you…some sort of Inception shit there. But, it's…uh….moving._

_"I should say it, quit alluding to it, and just name it."_

_Same._

_I can hear your voice in my head. Half of the words I write sound too much like something you would say. I want to hear your commentary about keeping journals. I want to hear the contents of your journal from your mouth. I want—_

_I want to kiss you, Dean._

_Your lips, they're, well, they're actually really pretty. With all your "experience", I imagine you're a great kisser. You'd take one hand and put it on my cheek. The other would rest on the back of my neck. You'd pull our foreheads together. We'd breathe. "They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together." In, out. Closer, closer. Noses bumping and rubbing together. Suspense and pain and heartbreak, then, finally, mouths pressed together, as familiar as we are in everything else. Together in everyway we can be._

_Chaste touches quickly devolve into tongues down each other's throats and spit and slobber and lack of finesse. Our arms wrap around one another and press our lower halves together. My cock rubs your belly. Yours against my upper thighs. It's enough, just that, just to touch you in anyway. Just to be touched._

_But, then, your patience is spent. My pants are unbuttoned and your hand is reaching down my underwear. I squeak in surprise. You laugh. I grip your shoulders tightly as your hand moves. You're a complete dick and squeeze too tightly to make me collapse into you. We tumble back against a wall, because there is always a wall close by in these situations. I'm flattening you into the wall, your breath hot in my ear. Those pretty, pretty lips start spouting dirty, dirty words. You wouldn't have to touch me at that point. Keep talking and I'll come._

_Instead, you pause, spit in your fist, and pull fast enough to make my eyes roll back. I finally come and collapse against you further._

_You're dick pushes against my spent one, and it's hard. Too weak to stand, I drop to my knees. You look at me uncertainly, rendered speechless. I unzip you and slip what I can of your cock in my mouth. Immediately, your head bangs back against the wall. My name is a chant on your lips. Your fingers find a way into my hair and pull tightly. I can't help but moan. My moaning sends whimpers cascading from your mouth. I bring a hand up to hold your remaining girth and increase the rhythm. Your cries become breathier and more desperate. A final squeeze of my hair and hot come hits the back of my throat._

_Dean—I can't blame you for a single thing. But, if I never see you again, I will. You can't leave me here with an unquenchable boner and unanswered questions. I'm drowning trying to sort through these feelings. Get back to me, jerk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized it's hard to continue a story once it diverges so much from cannon. New writer inexperience. Sorry for the delay. I'm planning on two more chapters until completion. Thanks for your patience!


	8. Blood and Holy Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reads the last page of Dean's journal. A confrontation with Michael occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilerish:
> 
> Keep in mind, not the last chapter. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

_Fuck feelings, Sam. I don't see the point of them anyway. Bein' a soldier, keeping up the fight, that's the whole point of livin'. I wasn't made for the wife life, or kids. I get that now. I was taught how to be a soldier and that's what I do. Feelings have no place in any of this._

_I get a boner when I look at my brother sometimes. So what? Just biology. Close quarters. Too few hook ups. More showers. Colder showers. Somethin'. Either of those will help. Just gotta—_

_I can do it, Sam. I can say, "Fuck this," and be fine. Really fine._

_I'm sorry. I don't want to have these thoughts about you. I should never have started this fuckin' journal. I should never—_

 

* * *

 

Sam fingers the torn page after Dean's last words. 

_I should never—_

Then, that's the end. No other hints into Dean's innermost being. The end of the most honesty Dean has shared with him in years.

Sam carefully folds the magazine shut. The booklet sits on Dean's desk patiently. A tentative finger glides over the Asian Beauty's face. With a final pat, Sam slips the magazine back into its hiding place. The secret compartment slides closed easily.

He glances about the room. Dean's dirty clothes are still on the floor. Dean can pick them up his own goddamned self when he returns.

Sam stands, shoulders hunched. His chin brushes his chest.

Mary and Charlie missed their check-in three hours ago. Rowena and Ketch are radio silent, too.

Sam can hear people scurrying about around the bunker. A heightened panic has touched every person. The preemptive strike failed. All hands on deck. The time to act is now.

Sam does not want to act.

He slips over to Dean's bed and sits down carefully. He opens the bedside table to see his own face staring back at him. He's known for a long time Dean kept these pictures in here. There is a flask of whiskey, too.

"'Til Death do us part, Dean," Sam toasts the pictures before raising the flask to his lips. He takes a long sip before capping it and placing it in his coat pocket.

 

* * *

 

The caravan arrives six hours later. Stealth forgotten, the teams exit their vehicles to amass around Bobby, Sam, and Cas. 

"Gear ready. No hesitation, alright? We go in, holy fire blazin'. If we can get 'em, grab the girls. If not, burn everything." The group nods at Bobby. Numbness washes over Sam. He knows the plan.

_Tell Sam, I'm sorry._

Dean is gone. Michael is too great a threat. Michael in his celestial form is a better option at the moment than Michael in his perfect vessel.

If he repeats these facts, maybe Sam can hold back the bile threatening to come up at the idea of his brother burning to death. His mind struggles with the concept. Close behind is the fact this Bobby is so willing to sacrifice everyone to end Michael.

Dean and Mary could be gone in a matter of moments. They could both already be dead.

A hand at his shoulder squeezes hard. Sam's head buzzes and turns slowly to look at Cas.

"Sam, come on. It is time." Somehow, Sam manages to nod.

He looks at his hands and finds a jar of holy oil within his grasp. Cas holds out a lighter. Sam doesn’t flinch, but it takes an effort to remain calm. He tries to call forward determination, his sense of duty. All he finds is blackness.

Cas tugs his sleeve, and Sam obediently follows.

 

* * *

 

After much pushing and shoving, Sam is at the back of the group. There are only fifteen of them, all the hunters and apocalypse survivors they could recruit last minute, about to barge past an old warehouse door. The rusted latch is a mockery. 

Bobby counts down and the race is on. First person to burn Michael wins.

They burst into the warehouse and are immediately assaulted by werewolf-hybrids. Guns fire. Machetes slash through the air. Blood sprays from severed heads and claw marks. Sam takes it in without feeling any of it.

Find Dean. First, find Dean. Everything else will follow after that.

Sam scans the room and sees Michael surveying the fight from high above. Sam shoves the holy oil and lighter into his coat pocket. He pulls out his own knife and starts slashing his way to the stairs toward the back corner of the main room. One wolf falls only for another to take its place. A feeling not dissimilar to being soulless overcomes him. He is ruthless. He is merciless.

He will save Dean.

He finally breaks through the ranks of the wolves and barges his way up the stairs. Michael ignores his entrance to continue watching the fight below.

Sam stands huffing in the stairwell, hot blood dripping from his arm onto the floor.

"Abandoned warehouses are cliché, but they do have their utility, no?" Michael says nonchalantly. He leans carelessly against the railing.

"What can I do to get my brother back?" Sam spits out desperately. His limbs begin shaking uncontrollably.

"Back? Why would I abandon my sword? What soldier takes such poor care of his weaponry?" Michael turns toward Sam and smiles. "Besides, he has long since gone quiet. Your brother is gone, little Sammy."

Sam flinches at the nickname. "What are you talking about? He can't be gone."

"Can't he? How would you know? Actually, I do wonder…" Michael steps forward. Sam's feet glue to the spot. Michael places one finger at Sam's brow. Michael's eyes flutter closed a moment. "Ah, so you found out. Interesting. He was certain you would hold him in distain, damn him to hell for his indelicate incestuous thoughts. What it must be like for you—to realize you will never be able to tell him you reciprocate his sodomous intentions. Filth."

With a flick of a finger, Michael throws Sam into a far wall. The jar in his pocket shatters. Porcelain digs into his flesh. Holy oil and blood smear together in his jacket. Sam withholds a cry.

"Dean!" He calls instead. "Dean, you have to hear me. Come on!"

"Tedious. You Winchesters, always the same," Michael twirls his wrist to point at his brow. "He is gone, half-wit. Dean is not up here. He will not overcome me to save you. He wanted to die, so I let him. This vessel is mine and mine alone."

Another twist of the wrist has an invisible hand at Sam's throat. He hears his name being called from down below. He brings his own hands up to clutch at the invisible one. Nothing happens. His vision starts blacking out. He only has moments left. Michael approaches with a fierce hunger in his eyes the more Sam struggles. Sam gives up scratching at his throat. He fishes around in his pocket for the lighter. He clutches it and manages to light it. His blood and oil soaked coat alights. In Michael's surprise, he releases his hold over Sam. Sam takes advantage of the distraction to throw himself forward and wrap his arms tightly around his brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he cries into his brother's ear as they both go up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ISN'T THE END. This would be too much pain for me, so, just letting you know. There's another chapter. I like happy endings.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Y'all have been so supportive so far :)
> 
> Edit: This is a good place to stop. It gets a little weird after here. If you want it to end here, cool beans. Part of me wishes I’d been brave enough to hurt. Thanks for reading.


	9. Don't Leave Him All Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is unconscious. Dean is trying to deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV :):):)
> 
> Unbeta'd.

"Cas, it's been three days. Why is he still asleep? Do your mojo thing and wake him up! Heal him!" Dean paces back and forth at the foot of Sam's bed. He pauses his frantic movements to scrub at his scalp. Cas turns sad eyes to him.

"I did, Dean. We've already been over this. Michael's grace protected you. Your burns were less severe. Sam…with the blood loss and injuries, my healing may have come too late. I'm sorry, Dean. There is nothing else we can do but wait."

Fire burns in Dean's eyes. Cas steps back, expecting a violent retort. Instead, Dean's face falls.

"I know, Cas. I just…I want to blame someone other than myself." With slow steps, he approaches Sam's bed. "Hey, Cas, uh, can you go check on things? See if Michael has surfaced or anything?"

"Sure, Dean." Cas pauses at the door, mouth opening and closing. He remains silent and exits the room.

Dean turns his attention back to his brother.

"Hey, Sammy. You did it. You saved me. You can wake up anytime now." Sam's still form is the only response Dean receives. He huffs out a breath and finally builds up the courage to sit next to him on the bed.

"Sam, You have to wake up, if you don't…" Dean wipes at his eyes and jumps back up. "Sammy!"

Still no response.

"I don't…I don't know what to do, little brother. We said if this happened again, we'd let go, yeah? But, I can't—Sammy, I…" Dean turns his back to the bed and paces to the door. He circles the room, alternating pulling his hair and wiping his face. "I can't fuckin' think when I'm like this! I need to talk to you, but…it's worse…all these emotions. I know the consequences of trying to save you, but I can't bear doing nothing. I can't live with knowing I brought about your death. Sam, I said yes to Michael to save you, but if it ends up killing you…"

Dean stops his rant to look at Sam's face.

"I can't look at you without seeing your skin burning up, smelling charred flesh, burnt cotton." He pauses to let a shudder rock his frame, voice thick. "It's all on me. I want to blame Jack for being pulled in by Lucifer, but that's my fault. If I hadn't been a dick to him from the get-go, maybe he would have turned to me, to us. But, nah, I had to fuck that up, too."

Dean pulls himself away from his side to sit sentinel, much as he had done over the past seventy-two hours. He rests his elbows on his knees and plays with his cuticles.

"I've thought about dyin', doing it myself, for a long time now. I've realized—a better punishment is to keep on living. Force myself to deal with—" He waves his hands uselessly at Sam's prone form. He checks for the thousandth time for any sign of movement. "How would you feel knowing that, huh?"

Dean lets out a sigh. "Never could read your mind. Easier if you'd just tell me, bitch." He leans back in the chair. A yawn escapes his mouth. He rises and bends over Sam. He brushes his hair back from his face. "Gonna sleep a little. Holler if you need me."

He pats his face once more before escaping down the hall into his own room.

 

* * *

 

Except for changing clothes a few times, Dean has not spent a significant amount of time in his room the past few days. The things he needed, he grabbed then rushed out. Solitude is too much right now. 

He stands in the entry, back against the door, taking in the little details. The knives on the wall. His cute little desk lamp. Hunting life mixed desperately with normal life.

Nostalgia stirs in his chest. He throws off his flannel and jeans and tosses them into a pile. He grabs his softest shorts and t-shirt. He wraps the robe around himself and feels the most like himself since—

The thought halts when Sam's sleeping body flashes before his eyes.

A breath pushes out through his nose. His sits on his bed and opens the nightstand. He pulls out the pictures within. He runs a pad of one finger over Sam's bright smile and crinkled eyes.

He sifts through the pictures, one at a time. Pain upon pain, grief upon grief. One dead. One missing. One unconscious. One alone.

"Good time for alcohol, then," Dean says to himself with a falsely cheery tone. He tosses the pictures back into the drawer and reaches for his flask. He pats further and further back in the drawer before he concedes his flask is not in the drawer. With a frown, he checks the next drawer. Nothing. He checks the other hiding spots in his room. No flask.

A sudden, horrible thought arises.

 _What if someone *cough, Sam* went through_ all _my drawers?_

In a panic, Dean launches himself at his desk. In his hurry to open the bottommost drawer, he knocks over his desk lamp. He ignores it for the time being to pry up the false bottom. He sighs in relief when he sees the Busty Asian Beauties magazine exactly where he left it. He lifts the mag and pats the maiden's face. She smiles in return. Dean sits at his desk and sets the book down. He begins to right the lamp when he notices the yellow packet is not in its place under the lamp's base.

He stares dumbly at the lamp before numbly tipping it back into place. With stiff fingers, he opens the cover of his journal.

"FUCK!" Three porn pages from his secret stash in the Impala stare back at him.

Before he has time to process, Cas barges in. Dean scrambles to close the book and shove it into one of the drawers.

Cas cocks his head at him for a moment before smiling widely. "Sam is awake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the end was supposed to be nigh but my original ending changed a bit to be fluffier. Chapter count is a bit in the air at the moment.
> 
> Thanks for your support! Positivity is a great and fantastic creativity boost.


	10. Inopportune Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets to face Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't as polished as I wanted it to be. A lot of schoolwork to focus on over the next few weeks but didn't want to leave y'all hanging too long. I was trying to twist anticipation into tension, so hopefully some of that comes through but don't kill me. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Half-dragged by Cas, still in shock, Dean finds his feet before Sam's door without a say in the matter. Lacking any sort of preamble, Cas shoves the door open and marches in, towing Dean roughly behind him. Weary eyes blearily stare at the intruders.

"Oh, Cas. You're back. Dean! Hey." Sam's face immediately changes from exhaustion to complete joy. Dean hides behind Cas, shifting from foot to foot. Sam cocks his head to the side before his cheeks blush. He hesitates a moment before raising his arms. Who could resist that? Dean starts to step around Cas, but Cas rushes forward and wraps his arms around Sam.

"Uh, thanks, Cas, for healing me," Sam's voice catches on the 'me'. He lifts his eyes to Dean behind Cas' back. The two of them share a smile. "And for saving us."

" _You_ saved him, Sam. I am proud of you." Cas continues the hug. Sam clears his throat and pats his back. Cas does not release him.

Dean clears his throat.

"Uhhh," Sam starts. His hands hoover over Cas' back. Cas' grip only strengthens.

"I need—" Cas drifts off. Dean steps forward and begins patting Cas' back, too.

"Hey, we're alright, Cas. You saved us. We're good. Why don't you go get some rest, or whatever the hell it is angels do." If he doesn't think about it, Dean can pretend the roughness in his voice is from smoke inhalation. Or years of heavy alcohol consumption.

"No chick flick moments," Sam whispers into Cas' ear.

Cas straightens with a sigh, "Yes, I should let you two…" He makes an awkward hand gesture and shoves Dean at Sam. "I'll, uh, go rest. Yes, go. Goodbye."

Sam's blush deepens. He pulls a pillow from behind him and hugs it. Cas stares at him, stares at Dean, then traipses out the door, slamming it on his way out.

"What the fu-" they start at the same time.

They giggle a moment before blurting out in unison, "I need to talk to you!"

"You first."

"No, you."

"Fine."

"Don't be mad—but why would I—wait—what did you—" Their voices continue to overlap until Sam holds up a hand.

"Wait, uh, I think I should go first, but maybe we should—" Sam is cut off by a jubilant cheer.

"Sam! You're awake!" Jack bursts into the room, all smiles. Dean jerks at the sudden intrusion. Sam hides his surprise and disappointment more easily. "How are you?"

"Good, I'm good. How are you, Jack? Has your side healed, yet?" Sam shifts uncomfortably. Jack approaches the bed with a frown.

"Sam, are you sure you're okay? Here, let me—" Jack reaches forward and touches Sam's head. The two of them blush and remain silent a moment.

"Uh, yeah, you're fine," Jack finally says before backing away.

"Wait, your powers, they're back? But, Lucifer sucked your grace out?"

"Yeah, uh, a few days ago, they kinda, just like, turned back on. Yeah, so I think I was interrupting something, and Sam's awake and alive, so I'll…yeah. See ya." Jack scurries away from Sam. The door clicks.

"What the hell?" Dean starts. He eyes the closed door, shaking his head, before looking back at Sam.

"He must have read my…" Sam trails off. His eyes shift to his desk. He laughs and turns back to Dean. Dean's worried brow, though, humbles his laughter.

"None of you make any sense," Dean grumbles. He pulls up a chair beside Sam, awkwardness pushed away. "You start. Go."

 

Sam relaxes back into his pillow at the command in Dean's voice, a balm for his chest. Dean's elbows rest on his knees. He is bent toward Sam, eyes dark and focused. He is ready to learn all the details of the case. For the first time, in person, Sam wants to place a hand on his brother's face. He wants to stroke his hair to the side, rub his thumb along his cheekbones. He wants to trace his lips with his tongue. He wants—

And, there it is. The boner he had tried to hide from Jack. What had been half-hard is now significantly more than that. Heat rises in his face, logic abandoned.

"Sam?" Dean asks. "You 'k?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, just…" Sam tries to subtly readjust. His pjs are entirely too tight now. Dean watches the movement, oblivious.

"Hey, if we need to, we can wait awhile, rest. You could use more rest."

"I just woke up. No, really, I'm fine, Dean. It's not, uh, it's not… _pain_ that's bothering me." Dean's head cocks to the side. Sam shifts even more under his gaze.

"Ah. Pillow's there for a reason?" He rubs his neck and his ears turn scarlet. For ten heartbeats, silence flows between them.

"Ireadyourjournal," Sam says, voice an octave too high.

Dean recoils. "I-I…I can explain…" He jumps from his chair and starts pacing in front of Sam's bed. "See, it was an experiment and I—"

"What? No, it wasn't. Dean—"

"It was. I was a helping a doctor named…uh…Doctor…"

"Dean, dude, stop. I'm not mad." A long, long moment passes before Dean turns back to Sam in slow motion. His gaze meets Sam's feet, then carefully and painfully slowly travels up Sam's body to rest on his face.

"You aren't?" he asks softly, hopefully.

"Maybe before we talk…" Sam considers something. With a determined nod, he carefully removes the pillow from his lap. Dean averts his eyes from the tented blankets underneath. Sam feels a heat rash blooming along his chest and up his neck. He folds the blankets to the side and carefully stands.

Dean shifts, whether consciously or not, to maintain an arm's length between them, ready to catch Sam lest he falls.

Sam studies Dean's expression, hard and focused on the floor. The heat had never left his face. He could merely be drunk, rather than embarrassed, or angry, or confused.

Cautiously, Sam directs his shaky feet to his desk. He gingerly bends to open the topmost drawer. He withdrawals his notebook, hands trembling.

"Maybe you could," Sam's voice breaks, "You could read this. It's-it's mine."

Sam carefully turns to face Dean. Dean follows the movement of his hand to the book within his grasp. He reaches for it, but not before his eyes fall to Sam's pants. He swallows and seems lost a moment. When his eyes finally reach back to Sam's, his pupils are dilated and a hundred hungry thoughts cross Sam's mind.

Without another word, Dean grabs the book and scrambles back to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. All your comments make me smile. I appreciate each and every kudos. Like, seriously. Y'all are awesome and keep me moving on with this story.
> 
> Chapter count is still in the air. I accidently created more plot points than what I was willing to cover in a few chapters. Also, my original ending is out the window. However, I'm definitely planning on some smut in the next chapter :) 
> 
> Thanks all you lovely folks!!


	11. The Complications Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV Dean/Sam. Dean reads Sam's journal. Sam figures something out (not about Dean).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up...I was wrong about the smut. No smut here. This is briefly plotty.
> 
> (That sounded like potty and made me laugh so I did not alter it. You're welcome.)
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Leaning back against his door, Dean hugs the notebook to his chest. His head knocks back against the wood. He stays there until the heat blossoming in his cheeks dies down. He blows a breath out his nose.

"Courage to the sticking place, I guess," he mutters to himself. His bare feet lead him to his desk. He throws the journal down before sitting before it. He eyes the plain black and white design warily.

They could pretend it was all nothing. If Dean doesn't flip through these pages, they could act. They could act like everything was fine and things could be normal. Completely, perfectly normal. 

Dean snorts at the thought and jerks the cover open. They have never known normal.

 

* * *

 

Sam stares at the door Dean had just run through. He paces a moment before the weakness in his legs forces him to sit down. With nothing to do but to wait, he reaches for his phone. No one had thought to replace his main phone. When someone almost dies, it's not really a priority. This burner is a simple flip phone, no internet or anything. His face softens at the archaic technology, remembering simpler times. He flips it open to a black screen. He reaches through the drawers next to his bed in search of a charger. He plugs it into the wall and waits.

 

* * *

 

Dean traces a tentative finger over the blue ink. Sam's writing is neat cursive. Clean. He presses more gently into the paper than Dean does with a pen. 

Dean's eyes naturally draw to his name, the first word.

_Dean, you still will never hear me say you are anything but a good man._

Immediately, his throat is tight. He clenches a fist and prepares himself for all sorts of heartbreak.

 

* * *

 

Sam's phone lights up and jostles him out of a thoughtful reverie with a loud vibration. He opens the phone and checks for messages. Several texts flash across the screen.

"Shit," he murmurs. He reads and rereads the messages before dialing the unknown number.

 

* * *

 

_I love you. No matter what, jerk. I can't hate you, and I won't._

_You don't get to decide your worth to me. I do._

_Just, come back to me, Dean. Please. Don't die. I'm not ready to…_

_I want to kiss you, Dean._

_Dean—I can't blame you for a single thing. But, if I never see you again, I will…I'm drowning trying to sort through these feelings. Get back to me, jerk._

 

* * *

 

"Cas, Castiel!" Sam bellows down the hallway. He sprints as fast as his legs can carry him through to the War Room.

"Sam," Cas stands with fear in his eyes, "what's wrong?"

Sam thrusts his phone forward into Cas' face. "What the _fuck_ did you do?"

 

* * *

 

Dean stares at Sammy's last words, confusion and hope warring in his chest. His body is rooting for all the sex. His mind, though, is not on board.

What is he supposed to do now? He could still pretend nothing happened. If he didn't really want this, he could walk away. He could keep them normal. He could find a way to cleanse Sam's desires. Tell him it's not real. Convince him to see a shrink. Anything.

 _Is it worth fighting anymore?_ A tiny voice whispers in the back of his mind. How many years has he held this secret tightly in his grasp? How long has he fought the conflict in his heart between brotherly love and sexy love?

How much does he want to hate himself for touching Sam? Because, no matter what the fuck happens now, if he were to touch Sam, if Sam touched him, Dean would fuckin' loathe himself for all eternity. Not to mention, how the fuck would they hide that from Cas, from Mom?

The buzz from his phone halts his thought process. A message from an unknown number flashes on the screen.

 _Blue Falcon_.

A sharp pain and dizziness overcome him before his room is filled with a bright blue light.

 

* * *

 

"Sam, you have to understand—" Cas starts. Sam interrupts.

"No, Castiel. I do not understand. My mother is safe. Rowena is safe. Charlie is safe. The girls are still looking for a spell I'm guessing does not exist." Sam takes a few steps back and his eyes widen in pain. "You lied. You forced us into that warehouse. Somehow you got Bobby on your team. You wanted us to confront Michael, consequences be damned. Bobby hates Michael and will do anything to harm him. Fuck, Cas, we lost good people. Good people! You used to care about them. About us. I almost died. Dean—Well, Dean…" Sam pauses to take a deep breath. He faces Cas squarely and asks the damning question, "Are you working with Michael?"

Cas stares at Sam, mouth opening and closing. In barely a moment, he turns and flees the War Room. Sam follows, shouting all the while.

"What did you do? Castiel, what the fuck did you do? What is Michael planning? Cas!" As Sam rounds the stairs to follow Cas into the garage, Dean shouts his name from the hallway.

"Dean, he betrayed us! I gotta—" An invisible force strikes him from the side, knocking him into the brick wall. Breathless, he looks back at his brother, pain lacing his ribs. Dean's eyes are bright angel blue. "Fuck."

"Castiel!" Michael calls. His voice should not sound different from Dean's, but there is a hint of otherworldliness to it. Sam remains in place and waits for Castiel to return. Still huddled on the stairs, Sam sees the hem of Cas' coat pass by him. Michael whispers something to Cas before Cas turns back to Sam.

"Come with me. Please, don't struggle. Please, it is for the best, Sam."

"You don't have to do this, Cas. Whatever it is he is threatening you with, you don't have to listen. You can choose the right thing—"

Cas raises two fingers and touches him gently on the brow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm, I make no more promises. I found another rabbit hole and I'm stuck on a plot and I'm on winter break, so yeah... I have no idea where this is going now. Two chapters or twenty more. IDK. 
> 
> Thanks for all your support. I've enjoyed working on this thus far :)
> 
> Also, I have hand-written the journals, would it be worth it to anyone if I scanned them in somewhere? Just a thought.


	12. The Past Doesn't Die, Not Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael reveals his plans for Sam and Dean.

Dean watches in horror as Michael throws Sam into the wall. He screams. He fights through the drowning waves, hoping to distract him in any way. Michael merely shoves him further down until Dean is surrounded by darkness and hopelessness.

 

* * *

 

Sam rises slowly to consciousness. Angel sleep is nice and peaceful, so unlike his usual rest. He remembers immediately Cas' betrayal and struggles to sit up. Heavy chains at his wrists and feet hold him down. In a panic, he looks about him. He is greeted by nothingness.

"Cas! Castiel!" He calls. "Michael!"

He waits before yelling their names again. No one answers.

The room is black. He can't tell the floor from the ceiling. The only sound, the only feeling apart from the frigid floor under his body, is the jangle of cold chains.

"Hello!" He screams into the dark. The sound echoes a moment. The room must be fairly large. He waits. And waits. Still, he remains alone. He tries to force the knot in his chest away, but fear grips him.

What is Michael doing with his brother's body? Why would Cas help Michael? Where did they take him? Why?

Sam roars in frustration and pounds a fist into his forehead. He has to figure out their next step. Closing his eyes, he sits still, and takes a few deep breaths.

"Why?" he whispers over and over to himself. "Why?"

 

* * *

 

Dean continues splashing under the surface, struggling to break free and breathe. The thought of his brother fuels his desperate fight for control of his body. 

 _Sam, Sam, Sam_.

Sam broke free of Lucifer. If Sam could regain control of his body all those years ago, so could Dean.

If Michael hurts Sam…

 _I love you, Sammy. I'm coming._ Dean whispers to the darkness of his mind. He will break out. He has to.

Michael's laughter fills his mind. _"Nice try, Dean. You are too weak. Roll over and let me finish here what my counterpart was too incompetent to do. This world will end, and I will do it. Nothing can stop me now, Dean, not even your pathetic brother. You could never have his strength. Hide in the depths. Sleep. When you wake, this will all be over."_

 _NO!_ Dean screams. He strains against Michael's hands. He pushes back, thrashes, bellows in rage, but he is pushed farther and farther from the surface. The light above him gradually fades. Weakness floods him. His descent gentles. Something yields under his feet. His vision softens around the edges. He vaguely recognizes the feeling of mud and muck and grime. The last of his breath leaves his lungs. Still, Michael sinks him into the mud, until he is encased, head and all.

Surrounded by darkness, out of energy, Dean stops caring. He sleeps.

 

* * *

 

"It was sweet, Sam, to share your letters with him. It will bring him peace, in the end." Michael's voice jolts Sam out of his thoughts. 

"Michael." Sam's eyes pop open to view continued darkness.

"Hm, yes. He was…moved by your words, especially the last entry. Vivid imagination you have, Sammy." He can hear how Michael punctuates his nickname with a sneer of disgust. Biles rises in his throat hearing Dean's voice used in such a way.

"It's Sam." He tries to track any movement in the dark, but finds nothing. Michael's voice could be floating in the air for all he can see.

"Hm. Well, Sammy, good intentions or not, Dean is truly gone this time, buried far down in the unconscious. He is trapped in the world of dreams. See, this is really a mercy, Sammy. He is reliving his happiest moments. He is creating new ones. A world filled with joy and no monsters. He can drink all he wants. He can _fuck_ whomever he chooses. The perfect place of rest. He will be too content to leave." A dark laugh punctuates the air to Sam's right. He struggles against his bonds.

"No, he's too smart for that. He will escape, and when he does—"

Michael interrupts him with a sigh. "The unstoppable faith of the Winchesters. Yes, tell me, will he escape in much the same way you escaped Gadreel's control?" Michael pauses mockingly before continuing. "Dean has no one to rescue him. He is gone."

"He will, Michael. He will find a way."

"I appreciate your determination, but now, we need to discuss why I brought you here." The room suddenly alights, blinding Sam. Michael stands before him, suit in place, cap tilted across his brow. Sam fights the bile in his throat at the alien expression in his brother's face. "Well?"

Sam looks about him. "Wait, this is—"

"Welcome to your new kingdom, Boy King," Michael sings. He spreads his arms wide and spins in a circle in Crowley's palace. "Do you approve of your new domain?"

"I don't understand."

"What's there to understand? I have done you a great service and prepared a place for you, your rightful place, Azazel's chosen, Lucifer's vessel. Here, little Sammy, is where you belong. Here you will rule. Here you will send forth demons to conquer the world."

"Wait, I think you need a history lesson. We already did this. Azazel, Lucifer, Meg, Ruby…our apocalypse came and went. We stopped the worst of it. All of those who tried to make me a king are dead. There is no king of hell, and I will not allow anyone to become one. Besides, my powers are gone. You're wasting your time, Michael. Kill me. I won't be the King of Hell." Sam angles his head forward and glares at Michael. Michael merely smiles in return. Sam fights a shiver.

"Try them," he challenges.

"No, I haven't had them for years. My powers are gone."

"Try. Them." Sparks flare in Michael's eyes. Dean's green are replaced by lightning blue.

With a swallow, Sam clenches his jaw. One cuffed hand raises shakily. He holds it over the other and concentrates. The chains binding him release.

"Shit."

"Hell must have a ruler, just as heaven must have a god. I give thee authority over all the earth, but maintain the power to smite thee. Do as I have commanded, and you will never see me again, Sammy." Michael disappears without a whisper, without a flash. Sam stares down at his hands, disbelieving.

Behind him, a door bursts open. Sam scrambles to his feet prepared to defend himself. Six suit-clad demons march in.

"How may we serve you, my lord?" One asks bravely. All of their eyes flit about the room. Their hands shake. They shift in place.

The demons fear him. Sam stares at them, the knowledge dropping his mouth agape, before hardening his expression.

"Bring me Castiel," his spits with as much venom as he can muster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?
> 
> My notes at the end of the chapter literally say, "CRAP. WHY DID I GO THERE??" 
> 
> But anyway. Yeah.
> 
> I am planning on uploading the handwritten journals. With the Tumblr freakout right now, I'm trying to determine where to upload the files. So, I'll get it figured out hopefully by next update :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing. Y'all are awesome :)


	13. Kings and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam does leadershiplike things but it's mostly pacing in a big room. Dean dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So warning here, remember Dean talking about a leggy brunette in his journal? We see a dream of her here. Heterosexual sexy times fairly briefly described.
> 
> I mentioned in the comments but I'll say so again here, I hate BoyKing!Sam. Hate it. If you don't like that, cool beans. Move on with your life and smell some daisies for me. I totes get it. I plan on making his "reign" brief and ridiculous.
> 
> Also, I'm travelling for the next ten days without a laptop. I don't imagine writing much, so be ye warned. Have happy holidays :)
> 
> Lastly, I did put up handwritten copies of the boys' journals. It should be mentioned below in "Works inspired by". 
> 
> Ok, that's all. Thanks guys for reading :)

Dean wakes up in the bunker and smiles. Today is gonna be a good day. He stands, dresses, and finds himself in the kitchen. Humming, he pulls down the ingredients to start pancakes. Cast iron skillet hot, he pours the batter and waits for it to bubble. He switches tracks and starts singing a guitar solo and mimes the air guitar fingerings. He pauses, flips the pancakes, and continues singing. Ten minutes later, he's cooked all of the batter. Enough for one large stack.

"Awesome," he smiles to himself. He drowns his plate with butter and syrup. "Man, today is the best day, like, ever."

He finishes his pancakes. He finishes a cup of coffee.

His feet carry him to the garage. He smiles at his Impala.

"Hey, Baby, how's it going?" he asks as he trails his fingers gently over the seam of her hood. "Well, aren't you a saucy thing? How 'bout we see if you can keep your promises?"

Dean slides in the front seat. He starts her up and peels out of the bunker.

"Let's go, Baby." He looks out into the early morning light. The sun strikes his eyes, but he feels no pain. He feels good. He takes off on the nearest road and drives.

 

* * *

 

"My king, we apologize, but we are unable to find the angel, Castiel." The weak servant takes a knee before Sam. The poor guy is wringing his hands, over and over. His eyes flit all over the room to avoid looking at him. Sam sighs. 

"'K. Keep looking," he mutters.

"My king, perhaps, if you used your not inconsiderable strength—"

"I can open locks, move wardrobes. I can't find angels who want to hide. I'm not as powerful as you like think. Get the hell out of here." The demon runs out of the room. Left alone again with his grumps, Sam continues pacing in Crowley's damned palace. It's too dark. He hates it.

He could set it on fire. Maybe that would…That would what? Sam stops the thought. Michael would probably kick his ass, and then reassign him to another location. Or, what if using his powers makes them permanent or something?

Better to avoid these fuckin' things.

"King of Hell, fuck." He kicks the throne with a painful grunt. That's the best Michael has? An ill-conceived attempt to repeat the events of ten years ago? The demons will only follow him as long as they fear Michael. Their current fear will quickly wear away when they realize Sam is nothing to fear.

The doors creak open and he doesn't try to hide his eyeroll. Two demons enter this time, both suit-clad and terrified. The shorter one hides behind the taller.

"Yes?" he spits out impatiently.

 "Uh, new phones, my king." The smaller thrusts three smartphones in Sam's direction before scampering out the door.

"Thanks…" Sam mutters to his retreating form. He looks to the taller one expectantly.

"My king, we have compiled a list of your closest allies," the demon replies softly. He holds a list to Sam. He takes it with a sigh. Ketch tops the list, apparently hiding in New York State. Bobby and Jack are still in the bunker. Charlie, Rowena, and Mary are moving along the West Coast.

Sam rubs his brow. "Uh, thanks. I'll let you know if I need anything else." 

The demon bows slightly and disappears out of the room. Sam fingers the phones in his grip. Taking a seat on the floor and avoiding the damn throne, Sam picks one at random, putting the others and the list down beside him. The contact list is already filled with names, the majority of which is he is unfamiliar with. His mother's number is keyed in. He holds his thumb over _Mary Winchester_ , but hesitates before pressing her name.

"Hey, Mary. It's Sam, your second-born. Well, funny story, I was kidnapped and made King of Hell. Can I get a ride?" Sam throws the phone down. He bends his head forward and pulls at his hair.

"What am I supposed to do?" He mutters to himself. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

 

* * *

 

Dean pulls up to the bar. He fixes his hair in his rearview, or rather, messes it artfully. He casts himself a devilish smile 

"Heyyyy, looking good," his reflection smirks. He nods in approval and jumps out of Baby. He saunters in all swagger. He grabs a beer and immediately sets his sights on a leggy brunette leaning against the bar. Her tight short shorts leave very little to the imagination. Her tank lifts above her curves and shows a hint of sun-kissed skin begging to be licked. His smirk widens. After eye-fucking for a good hour, and consuming enough alcohol to be truly cocky, Dean approaches the chick with a goofy grin.

"So, you gotta name or should I just call you mine?"

The girl turns to the sound of his voice quickly quirking her pink lips into a sultry smile. "Well, that sure is a new one. Good thing you're pretty."

She pulls him forward into her body, firm breasts pressing against his chest. A painted nail traces his jawbone. His eyes move from her hazel ones to her mouth. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip.

"Takes one to know one." His breath ghosts over her brow and flutters her bangs back from her face. Her eyes light up at him, and Dean congratulates himself on an easy pull.

"Hm, clever." Her arms reach up around his neck and tug at his hair. Dean slides his hands around her hips and back to cup her ass. "But, very, very friendly," she breathes in his ear. A shiver takes hold of him a moment.

"Wanna get outta here?"

"Thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," she practically groans in his ear.

Next thing he knows, they're in the backseat of the Impala. Her top is askew, boobs bouncing, as he pounds into her, orgasm rising. One thrust after another after another. The girl moans and thrashes under him.

"More, more, more," she whines. She reaches back for anything to hold onto and scratches the leather. He might should be worried about that, but, hell, it's fine. His sweat drips down onto her skin. His heart is pounding out of his chest. Heat is rising in his face. He's so close.

The girl reaches forward and grabs his ass, guiding his thrusts. She lets out a scream and clenches around him. His breath catches as he finally reaches orgasm and fills her with come.

 

* * *

 

Hours pass with Sam staring and staring at the list of names before him. The names blur and smear before his eyes focus on  _Jack Kline_.  

"Wait." Sam looks at Jack's location. "He can…Jack can..I need Jack. He…I need Jack!"

Sam snatches his new cell, scrolls for Jack's number and dials. The phone rings out to voicemail. He tries again, and it goes straight to voicemail.

"Damn it all to hell. Minions!" He barks. The weaselly one enters first.

"Yes, my king, how may we help you?" He shivers and quakes.

"Bring me Jack Kline." The demon bows out of the room. A horrible thought flits through his mind. "Hey! Do _not_ hurt him!"

"Yes, sire," he nods and slowly backs away.

"Wait!" Sam stops him with a hand raised. "Make sure he knows it's me asking for him."

"Yes, sire." The demon pauses awkwardly at the door, about to turn again, when Sam speaks, again.

"Oh, and don't tell him I'm king, or anything, just, bring him to me."

"Yes, sire. Anything else, my king?" The demon's squirrely behavior falters. A hint of irritation lines the corner of his mouth.

"Uh, no. That's, yeah. Cool. Thanks."

After the doors shut, again, Sam returns to his phones, a thousand ideas and thoughts itching his brain. If only he had his journal….

"Hey, Minion!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit longer. I may not post for a few weeks. Or I may. I'm unpredictable. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! I enjoy reading the comments and squee-ing at the kudos. 
> 
> Also...Works Inspired by...below...the journals...if you're interested. If not, I understand. My handwriting is hard to read and the formatting is not the bestest. I'm still learning.
> 
> Ok, sleepy brain is full of ramblings. Thanks for reading and...Happy Holidays!!!!!!!!


	14. Shadows Keep Covering Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts to doubt his dreams. Sam finds a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta’d

Dean fiddles with a few knobs on Baby’s dash. He’s in another bar’s parking lot. Things feel...fuzzy.

“Baby? Something feels, something’s not right. I’m forgetting...I’m forgetting something. But, what? What am I missing?”

He squeezes the steering wheel and looks to the empty seat to his right. The leather shines back at him with no response, no puppy-dog eyes or anything. Frowning, he shifts Baby into gear, turns off the radio, and drives quietly away from the bar.

“Who’s missing?” He wonders aloud. No one replies and no names fill the silence.

 

* * *

 

“Sam! You’re ok!” Jack sprints away from the demons trailing behind him. He stops barely a foot away from Sam, eyes huge and hurting. 

“I am. What about you? You ok?” Sam rests his hands on Jack’s shoulders, eyeing him up and down for injuries,

“Yes, I’m fine. But I need to tell you—”

“Hold up,” Sam interrupts. He looks up and over Jack’s shoulder. “You may leave.”

The demons' faces fall. With disappointed huffs, the men leave the two alone to talk.

“Ok, should be fine now. Go ahead.”

“Well, uh, first, Dean said you’d become King of Hell, and Castiel told me to avoid you at all costs. We are not supposed to speak to you. Dean is worried, and sad, I think. Then, Rowena did this spell to trap Michael in heaven and—”

“Wait, wait, wait. What are you talking about? Michael is in Dean. He’s using his body again. Cas is working with Michael. He teamed up with him to bring me here. What the fuck does Michael think he’s doing?”

“No, Sam, they told me all of it. Michael jumped from Dean’s body into yours. He corrupted you. I agreed to come because I knew I could save you. They taught me—” Jack’s earnest eyes meet Sam’s as he raises one hand upwards. His eyes blaze orange.

“No!” Sam throws himself backward, hand raised in defense and feels power flow through him.Jack is thrown backward, head slamming hard on the farthest wall.

“Shit,” Sam sputters. He runs over to Jack and turns his still form over. “Jack? Jack!”

He feels for a pulse. He feels Jack’s life blood pumping. A hard breath of air escapes his lips in relief. Just unconscious. But, brainwashed. How does one unbrainwash someone?

Who else is affected?

“I know you’re out there, come in.”

Two bashful demons enter. “Yes, my king?” They ask in unison.

“Start digging for a way to reverse brainwashing and, have someone check him out. Make sure he’s ok.” The minions carefully lift Jack and begin carring him head and foot out the door. “Also, uh, lock him up, gently!”

 

* * *

 

Dear stares at his reflection in a rest area bathroom. He can’t recognize himself. His lips are fuller than he remembers, his eyes greener, and scars long forgotten mar his face. He lightly traces the Harry Potter cut gracing his brow. Slightly off-center, it flows roughly from his hairline to right eyebrow, faint but present. His first brush with death. He hadn’t seen this scar since before Hell. 

Other marks are noticeably missing. His chin is clear. His neck has fewer remembrances of knives being held too close to the skin. His wrinkles, carefully earned with every smile and tear, have yet to cut deeply into creases.

“How old am I?” He asks the mirror. When no one replies, he tries again, “Is this a goddamned jinn again?”

Still, no one replies. He stares at himself and thinks. And thinks. He misses talking to someone, having someone there to give him suggestions. Just who, exactly, is the person who does that?

 

* * *

 

_Dean,_

_I’m good at plans, I am. I’m smart enough to think a few steps ahead, but Michael? Holy fuckin’ shit, Dean. He is on a whole other plane. He figured us out, how to take us out, and carried out his plan to t. I can’t look ahead the way he can. I’m not smart enough or experienced enough. He knew I would look for Jack. With his power returned, Michael knew I could use Jack, so he went and turned him against me. Now what? I’ve been trying to figure out how to undo it, fix him, but I don’t have the resources. King of Hell but not enough power to undo angel magic._

_Oh, I’m King of Hell. Woo._

_Really. I, yeah, I don’t understand Michael's current plan. I was his brother’s vessel, so he put both of us in our rightful places. I guess I don’t need Lucifer possessing me to be some kind of a king. He restored my powers, too. At least, in a limited fashion. Some telekinesis. I don’t know if I need demon blood or not. I’m not thinking about it. I won’t touch it. Especially since I’m not sure if doing so could make it permanent._

_We’re in exactly the same fucking place we started. Nothing has changed. Michael told me you’re gone. What the fuck does that mean? I was such a moron believing we could share a single moment between us. Would anything have happened? Had you been thinking of me before Michael returned? Did some part of you suspect Michael would return?_

_How am I supposed to save you?_

 

* * *

 

“Fireworks,” Dean whispers to himself. The Impala parked haphazardly behind him reflects cold moonlight. His back to the metal, he stares above a clearing in a grove of trees, confused.When had he last seen firecrackers?

Something resembling a distant memory flashes through his conscious thought. Two kids staring up at a night sky. A smaller one twirling with the falling ashes, smiling in joy. A feeling of happiness, of contentment follows the images.He reaches back for the memory. When was this? Which figure is he? He tries to draw the details forward, but something pulls the thought away from him.

He feels himself pushed down, away. His feet stick into a mud puddle. He struggles, flailing, but the mud swallows him whole.

 

When Dean wakes, he is in the bunker. He smiles in contentment.

“Man, weird dream,” he mumbles to himself. He starts for the kitchen, humming, while he decides to make pancakes for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to post before Christmas but I got carried away...
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	15. Friends and Journals, but, Not Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam thinks and journals some more. Dean makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> unbeta'd

“Jack, listen, I need you to stay calm—” Another wave of energy blasts at Sam. And other. The walls shake and Sam stumbles backward. “Fine! I’ll try again later!”

Sam hurries out of the dungeon Lucifer himself had been held, or so his minions say.

“Find Ketch,” he commands, “I need him. Also, have we figured out if Michael has been in contact with my mother? Charlie? Maybe I should call them...? I dunno. Get Ketch first. If you can find out about Mary, good. If not, back off. Send some well-behaved demons. If they don’t listen, I dunno, punish them, or something.”

“Or threaten to have them work for you,” one demon is ballsy enough to add under a cough.

“Yes, my king,” another tries to cover, loudly. Sam doesn’t care. They’re demons after all. The two scamper away.

Sam peers back into Jack’s cell. The kid is pacing in frustration sending burst after burst of pure power at the walls. Sam shakes his head. He walks back into the throne room and sits on the floor to the left of the throne. He searches through several files piled on the floor before giving up.

A moment of nostalgia has him wishing for John’s journal. A mental image of a Busty Asians magazine comes to mind instead. His chest tightens. 

He reaches for his own journal.

 

* * *

_When I was about fourteen, Dad found a job in Carlyle. Remember that? The high school was far west outta town. The flat Illinois landscape was cold and miserable. I hated it there, like most places we ended up. Carlyle smelled like fish and cow pies. Dad was in and out of our shitty little house for three months. He had the truck. You’d just gotten Baby. I’d walk to the IGA after school, grab something for dinner. I’d pretend to know how to cook, but I could really only make mac and cheese. I’d add stuff in like you taught me, hot dogs, peas and carrots. “Well rounded meals, Sammy. Carbs, veggies, and meat. It’ll help you grow tall, like Dad.”_

_You worked at a little garage there. It was off the main road. I’d walk over after school sometimes, and watch you work. It was one of the few times you were quiet. At home, working on Baby, you hummed the entire time. You’d sing, horribly. The oldies station would blare so loud the neighbors would call the cops. But, at work, you kept your head down. You did what you were told. I hated it, your complete and utter faith and respect for those in authority over you._

_Now, I’m in charge. I’m in a position of authority. I hate it._

_I fuckin’ love it, too._

_The demons do everything I command. They’re afraid of me, scared I’ll kill ‘em dead. I want to kill them all. I do.  But, I need to save you from Michael. I would do anything to save you, Dean, and apparently, that includes a continuing relationship with the things I hate most._

_I dunno, Dean. Is this the right thing to do? How can I escape being the King? This is stupid. I can’t seal Hell. Where would the people who deserve hell go, then? Heaven is on the verge of closing. What do I do about that?_

_Cas. Castiel. I am seriously hoping he was brainwashed. I hope it was Michael weaseling his way into his mind to get him to plan against us. I don’t want to doubt him, but he betrayed me. And, he has been acting strangely for days. What was with that hug? Was it an apology? How much of himself is he?_

_There’s so much I need help with, but I only have me. I don’t like doing things on my own. Making plans and keeping them secret, I feel like Dad. Fuckin’ Dad._

_If he hadn’t made a deal for you...If no one had made a deal for me..._

_We would be sharing a heaven right now. Soulmates. At peace. No worries about apocalypses or multiverses or heavens or hells or demons or angels. Just you and me. Together forever, in whatever way that looks._

_But-that’s not what happened. So, I guess I’ll do what I always do, tired or not, I’ll look for you and hold out hope that we can be together again, somehow. Always keep fighting, right?_

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Baby. Let’s go for a drive.” Dean peels out of the garage. He clenches the wheel with sure hands and smiles to his right. The smile fades when he realizes the seat next to him is empty. Feeling lonely, he decides to visit a bar.

Quickly, more quickly than he remembers driving, he is parked in front of his favorite dive close to home. He smiles at the twenty or so cars parked outside. He grins at himself in his rear view and musses his hair. He pokes at the slight wrinkles around his eyes.

“Getting prissy,” he mutters to himself. For a moment, he hears another voice say it. Someone with a soft voice, mockingly but not unkindly, saying the same thing under their breath. The thought washes away. Whatever.

He saunters into the bar and plops himself down on a barstool. Without asking, the bartender leaves and returns with two fingers of whiskey. Dean merely nods in response. The barkeep does the same and leaves to talk with other patrons.

With a half glance, Dean carefully catalogues potential hookups. Cute blond, sultry brunette, or tall redhead. They’re fine, but they’re not enough.

Each girl in turn sees him looking. He brushes off their answering eyes by turning his attention to a football game on mute behind the bar.

He sips his drink and falls into a peaceful place. Some dude sits down next to him. Dean ignores him to drink his whiskey. The dude orders a drink. He gets his drink. He drinks his drink. Dean keeps his unseeing eyes on the screen the entire while.

“Good game?” The dude asks in a gentle voice. Dean jumps and sloshes his Jack.

“Uh, wha-? Uh, ye-yeah. Sure, uh...” Shaking hands reach up to sop up the mess with the nearest napkin.

The man snorts in reply. “Hey, I understand, you came to drink, not watch the game. No problem.” He holds the bottle to lifted lips. Dean can’t let it go.

“It’s not that, I just, I got distracted and-“

“Distracted by me? I’m flattered but-“ The man motions in the air between them and makes a cutoff movement.

Dean blushes. “What? No! I’m not gay. You came out of nowhere and-“

“Dude, chill, it’s fine,” he interrupts Dean again. “I can go over there if I’m bothering you. I just, I didn’t want to drink alone and thought maybe you didn’t either.”

“Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Cool.” The dude takes a long sip, Adam’s apple bobbing, before turning back to Dean. “Sam,” he says, hand out, dimples blossoming around his mouth.

Dean finds himself mesmerized by his smile. “Dean,” he says, returning his handshake.

Sam nods, almost as if he is pleased by the introduction, before facing the TV again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh....I know I've said that like five times but for realsies. I've written ahead a few chapters. My goal is a total of 21 chapters. I've currently written through 18. Just a warning now, 17 turned out angstier than I anticipated. Suicidal ideation and giving up. Not an uncommon theme in this series but for those who are sensitive, I want you to be aware. Dean remembers a few "attempts" in real life. 
> 
> Okay, thanks everyone for reading! I can't tell you how affirming it is to read your comments and feel like you guys really like this story. It's way better than caffeine or alcohol. I appreciate it so much. THANK YOU :)


	16. PoUgHkEePsIe!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Poughkeepsie,” he says quietly.
> 
> *insert author smirk*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

“Ketch, how familiar are you with the British Men of Letter’s reprogramming technology?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. May I go?” Ketch keeps his eyes locked steadily on Sam’s. The minions had brought up a chair and set it up across from the throne. Sam stands between Ketch and the throne. He studies the determined set of Ketch’s mouth. He feels the rhythm of his heart change pace, a weird perk he’d recently discovered with his powers.

“You’re lying,” Sam says, dissatisfied. “I’m not the bad guy, Ketch. Whatever Michael has told you— it is not the whole truth. I didn’t choose this. I don’t want these powers. I only want to set things right. I want to get Michael out of Dean and stop being King. Please, help me.”

Puppy dog eyes don’t work on Ketch. He remains silent. Sam tries another tactic.

“Fine, is there anything you’re wanting in exchange?”

Ketch’s eyes light up at the offer. “What would you suggest?” He leans forward, only slightly, mirth touching his cheeks.

“I have pretty much all of the resources that come with the job.” Sam spreads his arms and motions around the room. “What do you want?”

A wicked smile cuts from one corner of Ketch’s mouth to the other. “Actually, there is one thing I’ve always found alluring.” The British bastard pauses dramatically.

Sam motions impatiently for him to continue. “Ok, what?”

 

* * *

 

Dean smiles over at Sam. Sam smiles in return and holds out a drink for Dean to take. It’s a local craft beer Sam convinced him to try a few weeks ago. For a small brewery with limited resources, it’s pretty good. Dean takes the bottle and slides into his now-customary seat next to Sam at the bar. 

“Thanks, man. How’s it going?”

“Hey, good. Tough day, but, that’s the way it is.” Sam sips his own beer and changes the subject to something about sports. “Jayhawks’ season is somethin’ else this year, huh?”

They start this way, first and second beers for sports. Three to five is family drama. Six and more is really deep stuff, usually forgotten come morning.

Sam keeps all the beer caps, every time. He builds towers and sculptures that Dean knocks over. They could get drafts, but Sam likes the feel of the bottle. He twists it in his hands. He peels the labels. He draws absent-minded shapes in the condensation.

Deans stares at Sam’s hands whenever he needs a break from staring at his mouth. God, that smile.

It’s only been a few weeks, but damn, with as much as they talk, Dean feels like he knows Sam, like he’s known him his whole life long.

“Dean?” Sam’s fingers have stopped twiddling the label on his brew. His tiny pyramid is begging to be pushed over.

“Sorry, I was thinking. What were you sayin’?” Dean looks up into Sam’s eyes and regrets it. Concern focuses his attention on Dean's eyes, then lips, then back up to eyes. White teeth clench at Sam's lower lip before he speaks.

“Hey, you okay? We can call it an early night, get you some water and a bite. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“No, I-” Before Dean can state his perfectly perfect state of health, Sam drags him out of the bar.

“I’ll drive,” he informs Dean as he manhandles him into the Impala’s passenger seat.

“Really, Sam, I’m fine.” Sam shuts the door on him and walks around to the driver’s side.

“Dude, this car is awesome. I am driving.” Sam casts him a wicked grin before shoving the key in the ignition and starting her up.

“When did you steal my keys?” Dean barks. Sam merely smiles that dimply smile in answer and peels out of the parking lot.

 

* * *

 

Sam watches as a bound Ketch is tossed into the dungeon with Jack. He peers around the corner at the interaction. For the first time in three days, Jack doesn’t try to attack anyone. The pair begin talking. Sam sees Jack’s face relax and feels his own anxiety subside. He calls over demon number two, the squirrelly one. 

“Take notes and let me know when Ketch is done. Or if Jack hurts him.”

“Yes, my king.” The demon focuses intently on his duty. This is probably a bit exciting for a low-level demon, Sam supposes.

Sam leaves, trusting Ketch not to fuck everything up. He returns to his prison.

Michael is waiting for him.

“Sam, Sam, Sam," Michael sighs out in feigned disappointment. "I told you, do as I command and I would leave you alone. And, here you are, trying to throw away this great gift I have given you. Shame. I had truly hoped you learned.” Strong hands surround Sam from behind and hold him in place. Sam suspects Castiel is holding him. He doesn’t have time to verify before Michael stalks forward.

“Give up your brother, gain the world, gain immortality. How is that not enough for you?” Michael says, frowning slightly. He looks like Dean right now. Dean trying to solve a problem. Unbidden, a sob escapes his throat.

“Oh, tears now? Bit late, Sammy,” Michael laughs. His eyes flare blue. He raises two fingers on each hand and gently touches Sam’s temples. “Don't worry, you will feel much better in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

“Where are you going?” Dean asks Sam when they pass the county line. And another 

Sam shrugs. Dean looks at Sam’s profile. The calm expression he’s trying to maintain doesn’t reach his eyes. White knuckles grip the steering wheel, and Dean is truly concerned. A memory bangs around his mind.

“Poughkeepsie,” he says quietly.

“What?” Sam asks. Panicked and confused eyes turn toward him. The road before them flickers half a moment. He sees something that is not Kansas, but only long enough to know it is a different place. There may have been people? Something is definitely wrong.

_Not Sam,_ he has time to think before a tightness in his chest leads him to open the car door and throw himself out of the car _._ The fall doesn’t hurt. His clothes should be torn. He should be bloody. Nothing. He is perfectly fine.

“Fuck!” Dean jumps the fence on the side of the road and books it to the tree line beyond the field. He never reaches it. The field grows and extends. The bright sunshine fades into black. Soon, he is running forward in darkness, looking for an escape he can’t reach.

_We were doing so well, Dean! I almost won you over. A few more trips to the bar and you would have been fucking me in the backseat. Ah, so close. Would you like to try again? When the time comes, I'll even let you top._  Michael’s voice surrounds him, mocks him, envelops him. The figure who played Sam is gone. Only darkness and Michael’s voice remain.

_Get the fuck out of my head!_ Dean screams to the void.

_Oh, Dean_ , Michael calmly replies. _You know you can’t release me. You are too weak. Besides, you have missed so much in the real world. Do you really want to return? Here, let me show you a replay._

Brief clips flicker before Dean’s eyes. Sam thrown against the wall. Castiel knocking Sam out. Michael touching Jack and Bobby's heads. Michael pretending to be Dean, pretending to find a way to trap himself in heaven. Michael reigning over heaven, pretending to have left Dean’s body. Michael returning Sam’s powers. Michael watching Sam from a distance, knowing he will try to save Dean. Michael commanding Castiel to hold Sam. Sammy’s tears of grief as Michael reprograms him. Sam’s dead eyes after Michael removes his fingers from his brow. Sam’s obedience. Sam torturing demons with his powers. Ketch splayed helpless and unmoving across the floor. Sam sipping demon blood, eyes pitch black.

_No!_

_Everything I have planned has come to fruition. Sleep, Dean, or be content in this dream world I’ve supplied. The world will end quietly and quickly. There is no escape and no one to save you. Rest now, in your defeat._

Michael gives a mighty shove and pushes Dean back into the mud. Dean screams but finds himself locked into the squelching mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spoiler* Next chapter...angsty. Made me cry writing it, but I am a bit of a baby, so...Suicidal ideation coming up. Be ye prepared. Or not. Whatever floats your boat. Also, BoyKing!Sam stuff will be resolved soon, for those who are like me and going, "Ughhhhhh, stahp it alreadyyyyyy." I'm taking advantage of his resources. More diary stuffs are ahead too :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I enjoy creeping on the comments and giggling like I'm an evil five year old with a squeaky voice.


	17. Just Another Pit of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives up. Sam is barely holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Not a happy part of the story. Suicidal thoughts ahead :(
> 
> But there's a bit of hope...finally!

_Worthless. Useless. Helpless._

_Die, fucker, die._

_Return to the earth like you should have done years ago._

_No one will mourn you._

_You brought this on us all. You did this to us_.

Voices surround Dean. Ghosts of Sammy, Mary, and John. Of helpless victims he couldn’t save. His own.

His feet begin to calcify. His lungs clog and halt. Blackness engulfs his mind. He sees nothing. The only sounds he can hear are from the voices repeating words he had told himself over and over for years. He could be standing in his room, gun in his mouth. He could be holding a hunting knife against the pale veins in his arm. How many times has he been here?

What stopped him before? Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. An accidentally, impeccably-timed text from Sam. Cas stopping by to check on him. Dad hollering through the bathroom door to hurry. Something, someone, has always been present, has always kept him from actually doing it.

Michael pushes the thoughts back at him.

_Everyone you love is gone. I control the world. Soon, the world will die and my mission will be complete. You brought me upon them. You caused this to happen.  Can you stand to live in a world you broke, only long enough to see it disappear? Succumb, Dean, to the consequences of your sins, your selfishness._

_Sleep, Dean. You are powerless. There is nothing you can do. Sleep and I promise rest._

He can’t feel his feet anymore. His legs and torso begin to harden.

What’s the point, anyway? He can’t fight anymore. He is too weak. There are others out there who can fight better, who can win. No one needs him anymore.

His hands stiffen. His neck. His eyes close against the remaining darkness. Cold seeps into his bones, then diminishes into nothingness. A last puff of breath and Dean feels calmness settle into his long-wounded heart.

His fight is over.

 

_No!_ A tiny voice buried deep within him refuses to slip into quietness. _No!_

_Shhhh_. He hushes the voice. _I’m done. Rest now. Be still._

_No, I won’t!_ The tiny voice tries again. A small form begins to take shape before his eyes. _This isn’t what they would want! Mommy, Sammy, even Dad, they would hate you for giving up!_

Dean turns away from the voice, the shape he doesn’t want to acknowledge. _Shut up, kid. You don’t know what’s going on, what I’ve done. It’s time to let go._

_No, you’ve forgotten us. You’ve forgotten your promises._ The figure gains color. Sandy blond hair, big sad green eyes. _And, you’re not stupid. Michael is tricking you. You know it. He doesn’t want to fight you anymore, which means you were close to winning. Come on, don’t give up now! You have to fight, you always have to keep fighting!_

_No_ , Dean whispers. _Sometimes, you don't._

 

* * *

 

What's the point of being psychic if you can't even use your powers against powerful beings trying to fuck your brains up?

Sam screams against the intrusion of thoughts Michael sends his way. _You are King. You are King. You are King._

Great. Sam already fucking knows that.

_Give me back my fucking brother!_ Sam screeches back at Michael. Michael jolts, physically and mentally. The pressure at his temples increases and Sam sees a snippet of the future. He sees himself as the real deal, fully-acting King of Hell™, demon blood and black-eyed combo. He sees himself murdering Ketch. He sees himself commanding hordes of demons as they descend upon the earth. He sees Michael in Dean's body ordering Sam around. He sees his loneliness and despair at being stuck in his own mind, working with and yet separated from his brother.

Well, fuck that.

The vision ends, and Michael's defenses weaken. Sam slips past Michael's mental defenses, his body lost to him for the moment. He's surrounded by darkness but hears Dean's thoughts echoing around. They're somehow different from Michael's. He slides into place before Dean.

 

* * *

 

"Dean," a version of adult Sam—actually about the right age, _huh_ —takes shape before him, "this won't lead to the light at the end of the tunnel."

"Sam, no, don't do this to me. We said, remember, we said we'd let each other go. You have to let me go, little brother. Go live your life." Dean's voice breaks. Sam steps forward, around little Dean, and brushes a tear away from his face.

"I'm tired too, Dean. Please, don't leave me alone. There's nothing left if you're dead." Tender touches continue from his face, down his neck, and to his shoulders.

"Sammy," Dean's voice cracks, defeated, "I'm broken, I hurt people. I let Michael do all this damage. He turned you back into that fuckin' monster—" 

Sam digs his fingers into his shoulder. "No, not yet he hasn't, but you have to hurry."

"He showed me a memory—"

"He lied. Come on, De. Wake up and get him out of here. If there is anyone who can help me, stop me from turning into his plaything, it's you. Come on. You need a reason to live? Well, I'll give you a fucking reason." Sam grabs Dean's face and presses desperate lips against his. Big hands determinedly hold his face in place. "You aren't alone, not really. Keep fighting."

Michael roars and the sound carries through Dean's mind. Sam collapses against Dean and disappears.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean spins around, hoping to see him, but knows he is gone. "What did you do with him? Michael!"

_Go, Dean. Help Sammy! Fight!_ Little Dean disappears into the blackness.

A fire lights in his chest. "Michael!" Dean roars. Michael slams a wave against Dean. Dean staggers but holds his ground. His feet begin to slide in muck. Michael's hands push him down. Dean pulls the fire from his chest and throws it forward through the water and darkness. The blackness retreats. Light returns blaze by blaze. The darkness in his mind is gradually reduced until he stands once more in a soft meadow.

Little Dean appears for only a moment. _Always keep fighting,_  he reminds him.

Dean blinks and finds himself standing in Crowley's palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily inspired by Heir of Fire from the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas. I should also note, I didn't like that Sam had to save Dean here, but it felt more like what the show would have happen. I like the Heir of Fire scene because the MC has to save herself. Anyway, I wanted to share that little backstory with y'all. (Cool story, bro)
> 
> Thanks for all your comments, and I'm so happy it's been stressful :) Thanks for reading! 
> 
> And, hey, if anyone is triggered, call someone! Don't be alone! If you need it, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. 
> 
> I love you all, and take care of yourselves!


	18. No One's Possessed, Yay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean reunite. Not sexily. Ketch, Cas, and Jack do some stuffs to further the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd
> 
> When I started putting them in, I probably should have warned about season 14 spoilers. I don't anticipate many more, but who knows??
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Get…off!"

Head aching, eyes floating about the room, Dean turns, disoriented, to the sounds of grunting on his right. Sam is thrashing on the ground, blood pouring down the sides of his face. Cas has a tight grip around him, holding him in place. His nose is scrunched. Darkness flares around his eyes

"Uh…Cas?" Dean takes a hesitant step forward, uncertain of the situation. Reality blurs. Did Cas do something? Did Sam? "What's going on?"

"Dean?" Cas stills a moment in his struggle, long enough for Sam to flail an arm about and punch him in the nose. Cas quickly recovers. Blue light flares in his eyes. Dean flinches.

"Cas, what are you doing to my brother?" A defensive tone leeks into his voice. He finds his hands gripping the collar of the trench coat. "Cas, what the hell is going on?"

Still grunting, Cas replies, "He won't calm down. I'm trying to…He's—" Orange light floods the room. Dean staggers back a step as the two bodies on the floor are thrown to opposite sides of the room. Dean kicks himself for being too distracted to notice Jack's entrance.

"Cas," Jack snarls. One raised hand points in Cas' direction. Yellow rings bind his hands forcefully behind his back.

"Sammy, you 'k?"

Still dizzy, Dean can't quite make himself cross the short distance to Sam. Sam doesn't seem to think about it. He raises one hand in a thumbs up to Dean. With the other, he tentatively fingers his brow with a wince.

"It would appear the situation is under control for the moment. If my services are no longer required… " Ketch steps forward from behind Jack to bow slightly before the crowd. He locks eyes with Sam. "You have my number. I expect payment."

Dean feels his face contort into a grimace of confusion. Before he can comment, an assembly of timid demons enters the throne room, circling and bowing before Sam.

"My king, can we be of assistance?" "My king, are you injured? My king, my king, my king!"

Dizziness forgotten, Dean throws himself before the demons, teeth bared. The demons waiver a moment before Sam waves a dismissive hand at the bunch.

"Dean, chill. It's ok." Sam looks over at the demons, "Hold that thought. Hey, Ketch. Don't go anywhere," he calls over the group. Ketch stops at a heavy wooden door and looks back at Sam with a pout. "Take a look at Cas, first. Jack, go with Ketch."

Ketch nods. Jack stares daggers at Cas.

"For fuck's sake, make sure Cas doesn't escape. After that, start looking for Michael. We need to know if he is inhabiting another vessel." Jack, Ketch, and Cas return to the dungeon. Sam returns his attention to the demons.

"Minions, uh, bring me ibuprofen and whiskey."

"Yes, my king." The humble horde marches away to do as commanded.

"Huh." Dean stares dumbfounded at the retreating figures before looking bewilderedly at Sam. Confusion quickly morphs into awkwardness.

Sam gets that look in his eye, though. The one right before a kill. Determination and last chances. Dean feels his face heat but doesn't back down.

 

* * *

 

Dean has a confused look on his face. Sam doesn't know what he remembers. He doesn't know what they need to talk about, but now is not the time. This time, Sam isn't about to hesitate. He is not going to worry about interruptions. He isn't going to worry about being seen. He isn't going to worry about Michael. 

He knows. Dean knows. That's all he needs.

Sam hoists himself off the floor and stalks over to Dean. Dean looks up into his face, reads the intent, and nods. Dean grabs Sam's lapels and drags him close. Sam's lips are on Dean's before either of them feel the need to say a word. 

Sam pulls away first.

"Are you okay?" He pats down Dean's arms and torso, looking for injuries, hesitant to make eye contact but terrified of not touching him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. You're bleeding, though."

"What?"

"Here." Dean touches at Sam's temples. He shows bloody fingers to Sam. Sam touches where Dean had.

"Ow," he says with a frown. He looks at the red smeared across his fingers, woozy without being able to pinpoint when it had started. The pounding in his head he had been ignoring for the past ten minutes picks up its pace. He closes his eyes a moment at the pain.

"Looks like an electrical burn. And a nasty one at that. Do you have a med kit?" Dean asks, concerned but gentle. Caring older brother, always.

"Uh, not here, but, check this out." He takes a step away from Dean and bellows, "Minions!"

Five clumsy meatsuits enter. Tripping and falling into an uneven line, they teeter between fear and excitement.

"Yes, my king?" The five voices ask at once. Ten eyes wander from one brother to the other. The demons look knowingly amongst themselves.

"Med kit, please," Sam asks impatiently.

"Yes, my king, right away." Seemingly surprised, three scramble away to do as asked. Two, however, remain.

"What?"

"It's just, isn't my king able to heal himself?" Genuine confusion colors the taller of the pair's voice.

"The fuck does it matter? Get outta here!" Dean yells on Sam's behalf. The taller runs off.

"You?" Dean barks. A smile slips from the corner of Sam's mouth. Impatient Dean is someone Sam is intimately familiar with.

"Your mother is waiting outside. Would my king like to see her, or should we show her to one of the rooms?"

"What? She's here? Timing!" Sam sighs under his breath, "Um, yeah. Show her to one of the rooms. We'll be with her shortly. Send Jack to her when he's finished with Cas."

"Yes, my king."

"Oh, and give Ketch his reward. Giftwrapped, if possible." The demon nods and exits the room. Sam wraps his arms around Dean and presses their foreheads together.

"Wait," Dean pushes back, "what's going on?"

"Well, you missed a few things while you were out."

"Obviously. Why is Mom here? What did you give Ketch? Why is he even here?"

"Hey, hey, hey, hold on. I'll fill you in, but first— " Sam kisses Dean again. Not sweetly this time, but choking him with a tongue down his throat.

"Dude—" Dean starts, but Sam attacks him again. He pumps his tongue along Dean's in a fierce rhythm, head bobbing from the force of it. Dean clutches at his shoulders to keep from being knocked over.

"Seriously!" He exclaims, pulling back. Sam smiles mischievously, face aglow, lips swollen and wet.

"I wasn't about to wait another second. Our luck…" He stops, face sobering. "I wanted to kiss you at least once like that."

"Like you couldn't breathe?" Dean jibes sarcastically.

"Like I wouldn't get to again." Puppy dog eyes absolutely work on Dean. He furrows his brow in response and gently brushes their lips together. He pulls back to say something when the door opens again.

"Ohmygod," Dean mutters, "get them housebroken, would ya!"

"Med kit?" The demon squeaks. He drops the kit just inside the door, along with a bottle of alcohol and some painkillers. He scurries away before Dean can stab him with the nearest candelabrum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a month ago, hated it and rewrote it three more times. Still hate it. But, I need to move on...so here it is. The anticlimatic reunion.
> 
> The next chapter is very wordy. It was long so I'm trying to trim up dialogue. Chapter 20, at the moment, has a bit more journaling. I'm debating with myself if I can close up shop by chapter 21. It might be 22. School started again so I don't have a writing schedule or as much freetime. LOL I write instead of doing homework. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for keeping up and enjoying this story. It's been an immense pleasure to work on. I appreciate all the feedback. ThAnKs!!!!!!!!


	19. Cute Boys and Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam fills Dean in. The group assembles to plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

Sam explains about the brainwashing, and Cas teaming up with Michael while Dean cleans the blood off his face with careful touches.

"So, somehow, our calls to Mom and the girls were redirected; they never received them. They were still hunting Michael along the west coast, a false lead in LA. While we were attacking the warehouse, the girls were safely hunkered down in another Men of Letters bunker Mom had used with Ketch once upon a time.

Dean pauses in his work, "Ew."

"Dean," Sam can feel the bitch face pulling at the bandages Dean had finished with. Dean smirks and takes a quick sip of whiskey.

"Sorry. Keep going."

"Yeah, well, when you were off reading my journal—"

"Good job writing smut, by the way. Dude, that was hot. I liked the first person bit, too." Dean slides a hand down to playfully cup at Sam's crotch for half a second.

Sam hides his flinch and continues as if Dean had never spoken, cheeks red. "I checked one of my burner phones, the really old flip phone."

"Oh, huh, I forgot about that." Dean pours more antiseptic on a gauze pad and continues dabbing at Sam's face. "Fuckin' blood everywhere. Why have you got to bleed so much? It ain't even that bad."

Sam continues to ignore Dean's whines. It's mostly to keep himself calm. "My other one was gone, so, yeah, I needed something. Mom was pretty worried at that point. She hadn't heard from me in what, a week? I'd given her the burner number for emergencies. Anyway, once I confirmed her location and safety, I knew Cas was involved.

"Cas had convinced us the girls were in danger. It was Cas' plan to storm the warehouse. Bobby trusts Cas, ironically, more than me, so he went with it. I was so upset about you, Dean, I wasn't thinking straight. They told me what to do, and I blindly followed."

Dean pauses again, the heel of his hand resting against Sam's cheekbone. He shifts so his knuckles pass across his skin instead. "Sammy, it ain't your fault."

"I don’t know what would have been different, but Dean, for that brief moment, after I woke up and saw you, I thought we were good. I had fuckin' hope. You were safe. I was safe. We could figure things out. Then, of course, things went to shit. I mean, come on, my powers are back? What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to turn them off? Why remain dormant all these years only to return at an angel's command?"

Dean cups Sam's face tenderly. "Hey, man, we'll figure it out. We always do. We'll find Michael. We'll heal Cas. Things will get back to normal, right?"

Sam nods and leans in for another tender kiss. After a moment, Dean laughs.

"What?"

Dean bites at his lip then squeezes his hand. "It's going to be awkward knowing Mom's around when I'm fuckin' you."

Sam blanches and lowers his eyes solemnly. He sighs. "We should probably go see her now."

Dean gives him one last squeeze. "After I fix your head."

 

* * *

 

"Boys!" Mary hugs them as soon as they enter the room. She runs gentle fingers over Sam's temples. "What happened?" 

Sam explains, as succinctly as possible, their disastrous adventures with Michael and Cas. Jack picks up where Sam can't.

"Michael tricked us. We thought we were working with Dean. He was very good. Cas was on his side, too, and convinced us we had locked Michael in heaven. He even took me to heaven to see the cage we had set up through our spellwork. It wasn't until after I had seen the cage that Cas touched my forehead. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I _knew_ how to stop Sam. They convinced me Sam was evil. But, you're not, are you?"

"No," Sam laughs incredulously. "At least, no more than anyone else. Michael zapped my powers back, Jack. I didn't ask for them. Hell, I don't really understand how they work or how to turn them off again."

"The spell they wanted me to use on you, I don't think it would help." Jack looks up at Sam quizzically. Sam snorts in reply.

"Probably not. Based on the vision I had, it would have turned me into some kind of a, a puppet." Sam can feel, more than see, the shiver that runs through Dean. 

"What was his end game?" Mary asks.

"He was going to use me to lead an army of demons into the world to destroy it. He only wanted Dean because Dean is such a strong vessel."

Dean rubs a hand over his eyes in exhaustion.

"Ok, so now what? Where did he go? Is there a way to lock him up? Transport him back to the other world? Fucking kill him?" Dean asks grumpily.

"Actually," Mary answers first, looking between her boys, "I may have a plan. Rowena reviewed the heavenly cage spellwork. Affter Sam told us Cas was leading us on, Rowena figured out how to make it work for real. We may be able to trap Michael in heaven. But first, we need to keep Michael from reentering Dean. What happened this last time, Dean? Tell us what you remember."

"Oh, well, uh, I was in my room, uh, reading," Dean coughs and avoids looking in Sam's direction. Sam feels his own face blushing. "My phone buzzed, thought it was Sam. It was an unknown number. The message was, um…" Dean frowns, looking down at himself. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone.

"Wait! Don't do it again!" Sam grabs the phone away from him. "Here, you do it."

Mary takes the proffered phone. She searches the screen a moment. "It looks like a code word. I’m not gonna say it," Mary pauses to raise a hand, "but, I've heard this somewhere."

"Ok, so in the meantime, I don't think Dean should answer any messages. No talking to strangers. And we need something to keep Michael out. A spell maybe? An antipossession symbol for angels? And, we need a solid way of knowing if Dean is possessed or not."

"I can tell now," Jack says. He slides up to Dean and places two gentle fingers on his brow. Dean flinches at the touch before relaxing. "I can sense some of the grace lingering. Michael isn't here now. Before, something was different, but I didn't know what it was. It was like, like Michael wasn't completely gone, like he'd left, I dunno a back door open or something."

"Ok, so, Jack, for now, we'll count on you to check on Dean." Sam turns his attention to Mary. "Mom, what do you need?"

"Let me get with Rowena and Charlie. After the demons asked me to go with them," she pauses to glare at Sam, "Rowena was going to find the ingredients she needed for the spell. One problem I know about: we need access to heaven." 

"We need Cas, huh?" Dean finally speaks up. The group shifts uncomfortably as a whole. "Ok, we'll see what we can do. Let's wait for Ketch to fill us in. Let's look for Michael. And, let's get some sleep." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My rationale: if I post chapters quickly, maybe I can get to doing my homework and stop obsessing over this story...
> 
> This is my third most hated chapter. The boys are OOC. It's cutesy, but golly John Brown I'm tired of looking at it. So, update.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	20. Lotsa Babbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean share a bed. It's not very cute. Dean gets a bloody nose.

"Here, this is my room. I don't really spend much time in here but…" Sam opens a side door in the throne room. Inside is a large room, king-sized bed and all.

"Is there anything my king requires?" Sam and Dean flinch at the demon who pops out of the woodwork at their arrival.

"Get out! I'm fine!" The demon slinks away into darkness. Dean looks prepared to throw a few knives after him.

"How do we get you outta this, huh?" Dean sits on the foot of the bed and rubs his eyes. Weariness he hadn't noticed before pulls him down. Sam sits next to him, arms brushing.

"I don't know, Dean. I mean, I'm trapped. I can't leave. I may not be able to help against Michael. I might have to stay here."

"Sammy, what if, what if we let them do it?"

"Do what?"

Dean takes a deep breath. "I mean, we've done enough, haven't we? I know we always say to keep fighting, but all we do is make things worse. What if we let the others handle Michael? Take away the threat or either of us fuckin' things up."

"Dean?" Sam asks uncertainly. Dean picks at his cuticles.

"Think about it? Please?" Dean turns tear-lined eyes to Sam, which always melts his resolve.

"Okay, Dean."

Sam presses his brow to his brother's. Unsteady, hot breaths gust over his mouth. He sucks in a quick breath.

"We don't have to talk about it," Dean whispers. His head turns minutely to the side. Their lips ghost over one another, catching at dry, bitten flecks of skin. "We could just—"

Dean raises a hand and strokes Sam's cheekbone. He brushes his hair back, and traces the shell of his ear. He exhales shakily and Sam pulls it into his lungs. He pushes forward the last millimeter to feel those soft lips on his own.

The desperate, achy touches from before fade. Their mouths open and close, and pull and suck. Tongues dart out and lave the other in gentleness. Breaths hitch and tears fall. They hold each other and try to keep from breaking.

Finally, Sam pulls away softly. He wipes Dean's tears away, as Dean does for him.

"We do have to talk, Dean. Maybe not right now, but we will have to talk. This, this is big and something like this—"

"I know," Dean interrupts, "but I'm tired, Sammy. And relieved. It can wait. 

"Okay, then sleep. We'll worry about it later."

Dean smiles, a look that doesn't quite meet his eyes, before sliding off the bed and easing out of his clothes. Sam follows suit before they slide back under the sheets and wrap around one another.

 

* * *

 

When Sam awakes, shaking, arms holding him tight, he panics. His brain automatically thinks of Cas. He needs to escape. He needs out. He pushes back against the arms pinning him, thrashing.

"Sam! Sam, dude, wake up!" A low voice yell-whispers in his ear. A hand whacks him across the head hard enough to turn his head to the side.

"Ow!"

"Dude, you're dreaming, wake up."

The hands around his shoulders shake him some more. He's slapped again and his eyes open.

"Stop it, Dean," he whines to the voice behind him. Dean's grip finally loosens.

"Thank God. You punched me, bitch." Dean struggles out of bed, clutching his nose, and searches around the room for a tissue. Sam reaches over to the nightstand and pulls one out of the box. He offers it to Dean who grunts a thanks in reply.

"Sorry," Sam yawns.

"Eh, it's fine. I knew you were a rough sleeper, but jeez, man. You can't go punchin' people." Dean sits back against the headboard, head tilted back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And muttering. When did you start talking in your sleep?"

"I dunno. Didn't know I did."

"Hm."

“What did I say?”

“Couldn’t understand ya. Distressed nonsense.”

After a few minutes, Sam pulls Dean's hand away to look for blood. Seeing the bleeding has stopped, he throws away the tissue. He inspects for further damage.

"'M fine." Dean pushes Sam back and lies down, arm open and inviting. "Come on."

Sam looks at the spot next to Dean and gratefully takes it.

"What were you dreamin' 'bout?" Dean slurs after a moment.

"Same old."

"Sammy, for fuck's sake, you make me talk. You better start." Dean squeezes his shoulder, pushing his head uncomfortably into Dean's collarbone.

"God, Dean. It's not a big deal. Just a nightmare."

"Uh huh. What about?"

Sam's reminded of a quarter of a century ago. Some nightmare about some monster. Dean making him talk about it. Turn nightmares into silly fantasies. Didn't work well with clowns, but, well, he tried.

Sam sighs. "When Michael was trying to get me to turn into his zombie-puppet, I had vision. I turned evil and killed people. It felt real, like the ones I used to have about the psychic kids. I guess I'm freaked out by it. This dream, just, I was seeing people die again."

Dean murmurs sad understanding before he wakes up with a start.

"Wait, Michael showed me that. But, I thought it was a dream?"

"What was a dream?" Sam looks up into confused eyes.

"I dreamed you came and talked to me in my head."

"I did talk to you. It's when I got these burns." Sam points to his brow. "Michael didn't expect the vision. It broke his concentration long enough for me to go talk to you. He threw me out, and Cas was holding me back. Then,” Sam shrugs, “you were awake."

"Huh. I guess I thought I dreamed you." He pauses. "So, to convince me to keep fighting, you kissed me?"

"Seemed appropriate at the time."

Dean laughs, "Kinky."

Sam elbows him in the ribs. "Hey, it worked, so don't be a jerk about it."

Dean snorts and shifts to his side. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Propped on his elbow, looking down at him, Sam has a sudden realization.

He reaches up to capture Dean in a gentle kiss.

“What’s that for?”

“I have a request.” Sam lowers his eyes and reaches for Dean’s hand.

“Wha—” Dean swallows his question as Sam draws his hand across his body to cup his crotch.

"Give me a handjob." Sam’s voices shakes in nervousness and uncertainty.

"Wait, what? Where did that come from?" Dean's loving look shifts to puzzlement. "I mean, not that I'd say no, I just wasn't expecting—"

Sam bites his lip and smiles, "I just, I just remembered, one of those, you know those pages from the doctor you were hiding?"

"Oh, God. You mean—"

"Yes."

"Fuuuck…" He drawls out the word, head tilting back, throat exposed. "God, Sammy, I wish you hadn't seen those, but fuck, if that's not hot. Dude, asking to be in a fantasy? Shit."

Dean shifts into predator mode. Sure fingers push down his underwear and yank 'em off. He throws them to the side, no unease. Sam watches the goings on with a smidge of trepidation.

Dean doesn't notice. Sam doesn't want him to.

Still on his side, Dean casually pushes Sam thighs apart. He avoids Sam's cock and starts with his balls.


	21. All Aboard the Sexy Train, Toot Toot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, smut. Yeah, I dunno. It's just smut. Heed tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is my first full smutty scene that's not in first person and only between two men. So, patience please and read with a grain of salt, or a lot. If things don't work logistically, well, my bad *insert laughing crying face* (Everything I know about gay sex is from reading fics, so it sounds about right to me *insert two laughing cyring faces and a blushy face*.)
> 
> Also, if I missed any tags, please let me know.
> 
> Unbeta'd

Playfully, Dean grabs his balls with a squeeze making Sam twitch back into Dean. Dean snorts.

"I thought this was supposed to be sexy," Sam complains.

"Hey, this can be arousing without being sexy." He rolls his balls again and Sam presses down into the mattress. “Besides, it wouldn’t feel like us if we weren’t moronic about it.”

"You are suck a jerk. I will literally kill you."

"Nah, you'd miss me too much.”

"Like hell I will," his voice screeches an octave higher as Dean finally puts a hand on his shaft, deft fingers edging across the slit with ease. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, keep doing that."

Sam’s hips starts pumping, but Dean pauses. He lifts his hand away from Sam. Sam whines and looks up at his brother, praying for him to continue.

"Hold on, hold on," Dean says impatiently. He reaches into the night stand to feel around for lube. Of course the King of Hell gets a huge bottle of lube. Why wouldn't he?

He squirts some onto his hand without bothering to warm it up. Sam flinches and mewls at the returned contact.

"You are such a baby, did you know that, Sammy?" Dean asks, voice husky.

"Fuck," he gasps, "you."

Dean picks up the pace, making sure to trace the pulsing vein underneath. He runs his thumb over the slit. He squeezes too tightly then releases too soon.

"Dean!" Sam yells at him. "Make me fuckin' come or I'll kill you!"

Dean snorts in reply. He picks a slow pace and lowers his mouth to suck on a nipple.

"Ughn." Sam sounds like he's trying really, really hard to keep from making any noise, like Dean would find it funny his nipples were sensitive. Yeah, well, he's totally right. It is fucking hilarious, so, Dean sucks harder, and harder. With each pull against flesh, Sam mutters breathier and breathier, "Ah, ah, ahs!"

Dean smiles knowingly like the dick he is. Come on, everyone knows he's a sex god.

His cockiness slips when Sam slides a hand down his underwear and squeezes his cock. Dean literally chokes a moment before he can bite the nipple in his mouth.

"Fuck, Dean, you're such a jerk," Sam pushes Dean's mouth away to rub at the sensitive nub under his fingers. Dean lifts his head and smiles down at Sam.

"Love you, too, Sammy," he smiles.

Sam freezes a moment before laughing, "Dean, you can't— _fuck, don't stop_ —you can't say you love me before we're about to die, but you'll— _why are you so good at that_?—you'll say it jokingly when you're jacking me off?"

Dean continues pulling on his brother's dick, adding an extra special twist at the end of each stroke, as he considers his brother.

"You know I love you. Why do I have to say it?"

Sam looks up at his confused face. He releases the hand on Dean's cock and places it on Dean's face. Dean has a moment of, _Ew, gross_ , before he focuses on Sam's face again.

"God, I love you," spills out of Sam's mouth. A smile touches his eyes as he arches back into the bed and comes over Dean's hand.

Dean works him through the aftershocks, all the while mesmerized by the smile on Sam's face. Of all the people he's slept with, how many of them have done that?

When Sam finally twitches at Dean's touch, he moves his hand to his own dick, rushing far from his mind. He leans forward and kisses Sam. A gentle, soft touch. Sam murmurs a groan into the kiss.

"Let me—" he tries.

"No, I need—" Dean works himself the same way he worked Sam. His dick pulses and throbs in his hand, begging for release, but his mind, his heart needs to kiss Sam first.

Sam sneaks a hand between Dean's legs and spreads his thighs. He squeezes Dean's balls and Dean yelps.

"Fuck, Sam!"

"Hey, I’m just returning the favor," Sam says against his mouth.

Dean tries to mutter something but Sam has his tongue brushing against his lips, begging for entry. Dean opens to let him in. Sam slides his tongue against Dean's in the same rhythm Dean is pumping his dick to. Sam starts rolling his balls to the same beat.

Dean becomes aware of a girlie sound comin' from somewhere. No way does he sound like a freakin' girl…does he?

Tongue occupied, the only sound Dean can make is a small groan in the back of his throat. It does sound a little bit high pitched.

Just as he is coming to terms with his high-pitched, just-for-Sammy whine, Sam uses his other hand to pinch at Dean's nipples. And he's gone. He's done. His body tenses up, his jaw clenches, and his come mixes with Sam's on his hand.

When he reboots, his face is mashed unceremoniously against Sam's. Their breathing is still labored. Their skin is flushed and hot.

"God, Dean," Sam whispers into his ear, "I knew you were a slut, but—"

"Eh, fuck you, Sam." Dean rolls off of Sam and onto his back. Sam laughs and pats his belly.

"Did it live up to your fantasies?"

"More than and you know it. Silence. I need sleep now." Something about Dean’s voice makes Sam cock his head to the side. Eyes closed, breathing softly, Sam ignores whatever he thought he heard.

"Good night, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever written something and said, "Oh I hope my mother never finds out about this..."
> 
> I have written ahead several chapters. I'm still not done. No more guesses at how many chapters are left. I have no idea. I will say, some dark, dark days are ahead. Like, I'm changing warnings pretty soon. I also have some stupid deus ex machina stuff upcoming. So, yeah.
> 
> Thanks for making it this far with me! I do have more journaling written out. I haven't figured out where to put it yet, but it exists. It's my favorite. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	22. Sometimes There's A Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a way for Sam to shut down his powers. Not a euphemism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd and not as proofed as I wanted it to be.

"My king?" A tentative voice wakes Sam the next morning.

"The fuck could you possibly want to warrant entering my room at five in the morning?" Sam barks, quietly. Dean jolts awake, and Sam can feel him searching for a weapon under his pillow.

"My king, we found Michael," the demon whispers excitedly. Sam sits up, on one elbow and motions for the demon to continue. "He is inhabiting the vessel Nick."

"How is that possible?" Dean asks. The demon continues looking at Sam.

"The modifications made to sustain Lucifer were, apparently, suitable to Michael's cohabitation. The vessel is currently en route in west Texas. He was last seen in a small town called Hamlin. We are uncertain of his destination." Sam roughly thanks the demon and banishes him from his room.

"Come on, let's go tell, Mom."

"Sam, wait," Dean calls after him.

"What? Dean, come on! This is important."

"Sam, you smell like sex, and you're covered in come. Do you care to explain to our mother?" Sam looks down at his belly and fingers the white remnants a moment.

"Point taken."

Twenty minutes later, cleaned up, dressed, and blushing, the boys knock an Mary's door.

"Mom, we know where Michael is!"

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Mary climbs into the front seat of a beat up Ford Econoline van. Sam watches from the window of his palace. Jack waves from the passenger seat. Cas looks down at his hands, still ashamed. Ketch stares blankly ahead, no doubt murder on his mind. 

Dean stands next to Sam and watches the van pull away.

"Having second thoughts?" Sam asks. Dean doesn't answer. He squeezes Sam's hand in reply, eyes following the horizon.

"It's better this way," he whispers. Sam turns and gets lost in the hurt on Dean's face.

"I'm not sure if it's better, but it is new for us, handing the world off to a different set of players."

"If anything happens to them…"

"I know, Dean. I'm there with you. But, you heard Mom. If the code worked once, it could work again. You'd merely have to read it and…pop, Michael's back."

"What are we supposed to do for, what, three days?"

"Research. We've got to get me out of here somehow. We need to find an antipossession symbol or charm or something."

"Yeah, ok." Dean listlessly follows Sam down a few corridors into the demonic library. He searches shelves before piling twelve books on the table. Sam finds his own stack and sits across from him. Minutes pass. Then hours. They pause to eat, sneak a kiss. Sam comments on one potential idea. Dean falls asleep. Mary texts their location for the night.

The next day passes in a slow haze of reading.

"Hey, Sammy, look at this." Dean turns from the window. The yellowing tome in his hands is written in a dark red ink. Probably blood. Sam pushes away his disgust to read what Dean is pointing to.

"No way. Dean, it can't be that easy," he laughs in disbelief.

"I mean, it kinda makes sense. Give it a try?" Dean's eyes shower hope at him. Sam rolls his eyes.

"This is stupid. No way. Why would it—"

"It can't hurt. I mean, it shouldn't…" Dean trails off and Sam looks down at him impetuously. But, Sam caves.

"If this is all it fuckin' took this whole time, I am going to have a serious talk with Cas one day about being a pretentious, small-minded, religious bigot."

Sam sits on the floor, legs crossed. His hands rest gently on his knees, middle finger pinching his thumb.

"Step one: close your eyes and fall into a meditative state."

"Dean, I read it. I remember. I can do this better in silence."

"Oh, sorry, I'll just, I'll sit right over here."

Sam works on his breathing and slowly feels himself relax. He feels around for his chakras, and holy shit they're on fire. Are they supposed to be on fire? NO, chakras as not supposed to be on fire.

 _Stop!_ He yells at them. Nothing happens. He tries again. _STOP!_ The energy within him pauses, considers what he's saying, and starts to dim. By sheer force of will, Sam keeps screaming at his inner self to find peace. To calm.

Very slowly, the disks on the edge of his vision come closer and closer. Their light burns less brightly the closer they come. He reaches out when they come within touching distance. He takes hold of the first disk, then second. He pulls all seven of them out of space and piles them before his seated feet.

Their light is small, but still present. He imagines dousing them in water. The light finally dies. He digs a small hole and tosses them in. He looks around but there's no sign of any energy.

He finally pulls out of his mind and stares straight ahead. He feels dizzy but also extremely cold.

"Dean?" He calls.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean rushes over and sits gingerly before Sam, eyes all worry. "Did it work?"

"I dunno. Really tired now."

"It's been three hours. I'd imagine so. Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Yeahhh, okayyy," Sam slurs. They trudge to Sam's room. He falls asleep before trying to slide under the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is offensive, I didn't mean for it to be. I thought it would be a neat way to simply ease Sam out of BoyKing!Sam mode. 
> 
> SUPER SPOILER: Next chapter was fucking dark when I first wrote it. It's a vision where Dean dies because Michael brainwashed him. It's still dark and Dean "dies" but I think I've softened it some. I plan to post before Sunday. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	23. BOOM, Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a vision. It’s not pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH BUT IT’S NOT REAL. Sam has a vision Dean kills himself from guilt in the bathroom. It doesn’t come to fruition. 
> 
> I DON’T WANT TO SPOIL IT FOR EVERYONE BUT I DON’T WANT TO TAG IT EITHER. Please don’t get too upset. Dean’s ok. Sam’s ok. 
> 
> Lol, I reread the, “but it’s not real” and made myself laugh.
> 
> Unbeta’d.

Sam groans and slowly opens his eyes.

"Sammy? How do you feel?" Dean rustles next to the bed. Sam pushes himself to sitting and stretches with a hearty yawn.

“Hm,” he mutters. “Pretty good. Actually...” He trails off and closes his eyes. He feels calm. he feels rested. “You know, I didn’t realize it, but there was, I dunno, this kind of like, fire, or something, in my chest. Now it’s gone, and...”

Sam sighs again and smiles over at Dean. “I feel good.”

Dean tries to smile in return, but Sam can see worry at his eyes.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. No, it’s okay.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Dean. What happened?” Sam sits up and takes in Dean’s appearance. He’s unshaven, hair greasy. Dark circles line his eyes. “How long was I asleep?”

“Sam, nothing happened. I just, I wanted to make sure you were alright. Only fourteen hours or so. Not too long.” Dean’s eyes shift to his hands. Sam notices a notebook on his lap. Dean with thinking time is never good. Sam reaches for his hand. Dean flinches at the contact. He jumps up, notebook fluttering to the ground.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scrambles to pick up the paper. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get you something to eat. Take a shower. You stink.”

Dean runs out of the room. Sam stares after him, disappointed and hurt. But, fucking determined to grab that damn journal. Whatever Dean has written, it won’t be good, and Sam is going to spend as long as necessary to contradict whatever lies Dean has constructed while Sam slept.

 

* * *

 

Dean still has not returned by the time Sam is showered and dressed.

“Minions!” Sam bellows.

A bitch-faced demon enters.

“What?” He sasses.

Sam’s taken aback by the snark. “Uh, yeah, have you seen my brother?”The demon stares back blankly.

“No,” he replies and leaves the room.

Sam watches the demon leave, slightly elated at his reaction, but increasingly worried about Dean. It doesn’t take half an hour to find breakfast right?

Anxiety writhes along his spine. Something feels wrong.

He throws their few belongings into a bag and hoists the bag on his shoulder. His hands shake. His shoulders tense. Something is very wrong.

He runs out of the room and starts calling for his brother.

“Dean? Dean!”

He checks the kitchen, the library. He asks each demon he encounters. No one has seen him.

Sam fears Dean has left without word, without warning. Did the demons sense his power deactivating and kill him out of spite?

“Dean!”

“Uh, my king,” a quiet voice sounds behind him.

Sam jumps and turns to see the squirrelly demon behind him.

“What?” He barks.

“Follow me,” the demon says. He begins jogging down the hallway.

They reach a dark corner of the palace Sam hasn't seen before. A group of demons stand outside of a door, murmuring with dark smiles. Anger rises in Sam.

“BACK.” Energy flares in his chest. The demons flinch and collectively move backward one step. Then another. Then another, until the hallway is clear.

Fear roiling in his gut, Sam pushes into the room.

On the floor, surrounded by blood and glass, Dean is slumped on his face, unmoving.

“Dean?” Sam asks hopelessly. The unnatural hold of his body is answer enough. He knows by looking. He slides to his knees, hundreds of needles tearing into his patella. With the lightest touch of cold fingers, he touches his cheekbone. The skin is still warm. He trails down to find a pulse.

He presses hard enough to bruise. He counts for longer than necessary.

He sees the blood on the floor. He sees the cuts across Dean’s arms.

He is too late.

Heat builds in his chest. He can feel the energy building and spreading, expanding and shoving out past his body. His energy floods Dean, the room, the hallway, the building. Blood pours from his nose. His eyes feel dark. He becomes aware of a menacing roar pouring from his lips. He feels himself changing, the energy turns into darkness, a hungry thing to consume all that is around him.

A tickle in the back of his mind draws his attention away from his grief, from his transformation.

_You are so easy, Sam._ Michael whispers.

“How? You aren’t here, how did you—”

_I programmed Dean once, did you think I couldn’t do it again? A little grief, and I knew you could do this yourself._

“NO!”

_It’s too late, Sam. You’ve started your own transformation. Let me introduce, the Boy King!_ Michael's voice fades into a harmless giggle.

Sam roars in defiance before the world falls into darkness.

 

* * *

 

“Sammy, how’re you feeling?”

Sam bolts up and stares at Dean. He looks awful. Sam jumps out of the bed and wraps Dean in his arms. Dean stiffens and tries to pull away.

“Don’t you fucking dare. You are staying here. We are gonna talk or, or,” Sam looks at Dean and remembers the journal in his lap. He grabs it.

“Hey, that’s private!” Dean tries to jerk the book from him, but Sam shoves him down.

“I just had a vision. Shut the fuck up and sit down. I need to know what this says.”

Dean pales and lowers himself into his seat. His eyes twitch across the room, at everything but Sam. Sam hovers over Dean, blocking any escape. He flips the journal open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit short. The next one is a wee bit long. I can’t win for losing. I have a tentative ending written but I’ve a few plot holes to sort out before then. Sooo yeah.
> 
> I said I’d post on Sunday and it’s Tuesday so my bad. I was actually a good student and did my homework instead of working on fics. Woo. Maturity comes to us all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your comments. I appreciate your continued support!


	24. Journals Can Be Helpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy reads Dean’s journal. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta’d

_I wish we could go out in a blaze of glory, bright lights, explosions, heat, flame. Spectacular. More than driving off of a cliff together. More than swallowing pills and fading away._

_Dude, I want to go out sealing the gates of hell, brother at my side, demons screaming in rage, blood dripping from my mouth and a sure, hell-fire, shit-eating grin on my face._

_I wanna die knowing what I'm dying for is gonna piss of the badies and justify my useless life on earth._

_You get that, don't ya?_

_Shit, throw in your come drippin' outta my ass and there's the perfect picture. Bodies burning up on the way to hell after having saved the world._

_That's real, ain't it? That's what's really gonna happen to us. Heaven is no place for us. The empty is too merciful. We're gonna burn in hell for our sins. Be tortured until we become the things we hate most. Then, what would it matter? Incestuous thoughts be damned. Demons are demons are demons. We'll suffer and be damned no matter what._

_I could last longer before cutting into others, knowing you might be the first person they wanted me to bleed. I could last for eternity, 'cause I ain't doing that to you._

_I can't fathom us going into the empty. I can't imagine us not existing. I can't—I won't think about us going there._

***

_What have I done?_

_***_

_How? You fuckin’ son of a bitch._

_***_

_I talked to our mother, plain as day, immediately after?_

_***_

FUCK. _I can’t-I can’t live with this. It’s, it’s, fuck it’s too big. I can’t—_

_I look in the fuckin' mirror and imagine it's your fingers on my face. Your come on my face. I have to wash my hands with two pumps of soap and then again. I can't get you off of me. How could I fuckin' do that to you, Sammy? My little Sammy. No hesitation. No thought. I just, I just…_

_I brainwashed you into wanting this, Sam! I manipulated you. I raped you._

_If I hadn't put any of this in your head, if you hadn't read what I'd written, you never would have wanted this. I fucked you up._

_Fuck! How could I?_

_I get a chance at happiness, and I fucking take it. I never, never even considered how wrong it might be until you were unconscious. I thought about fucking you anyway._

_Incest, meh, no big deal. But rape? Or, the idea of rape, and I realize how fucking messed up I am. That’s when I stop and say, “Hey, something isn’t right here.”_

_No shit, Sherlock!_

_Sammy, I'm so sorry. I should have been stronger. I should have found a way to fix you. Oh, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

* * *

Sam chucks the notebook down and punches Dean. 

“How dare you?” He roars. He grabs Dean around the shoulders and tries to shake sense into him. “You talk with me before you do stupid shit, okay? Because I know. I know what you do. You leave here, you go into a bathroom, and you slit your wrists. I find you dead, too late to help, and go full-on demon.”

“Sam, I wouldn’t. What are you talking about—” Dean shifts in his chair, hands clenched. His eyes focus on Sam’s left shoulder. His lips part and quiver.

“Stop lying, Dean! I saw you! You were dead! You were dead—” Sam voice catches. He pauses to take a breath. Dean looks down at his feet. “You died and that’s all it took for me lose it. You fucking cut your wrists, Dean! You committed suicide. Michael told me he programmed you, but he didn’t need to. I read your other journal, Dean. You’ve wanted to before. Many times before. You don’t think your life is worth living and if you have an excuse to die, you’ll take it.”

Dean pales before reddening. A hateful sneer crosses his features. He finally looks up into Sam’s face and pushes back against him.

“I ruined you, Sammy!” He spits out. “ _I_ made you think these, these incestuous things about me. _I_ made you do that. You said it yourself! If you hadn’t read my journal, you never would have had these thoughts about me. So, I brainwashed you. I fucked you up. I didn’t even feel guilty about it. Why didn’t I feel guilty about it?”

“Oh my God,” Sam freezes in place and thinks about what Michael said. “Dean, I think, I think Michael, he, I dunno. He, wait. Let me back up. When you first woke up, after Michael left, and we were alone, you let me kiss you, no problem.”

“Yeah...” he trails off. Dean takes a step backward. His face is still red. He tilts his head down and scrubs his neck.

“But, that is so out of character for you. Like, look back, when I molotoved Michael and was unconscious, when you knew I had read your journal, you couldn’t hardly look me in the eye.”

Dean frowns. Sam takes a tentative step forward to try to make his point. Dean slides hesitantly away.

“Cut to the night you were freed,” Sam says to his back. “You grabbed my crotch, as a joke, but still, when you were cleaning my head. And later, you didn’t argue about having sex. You weren’t even freaked out. What if he put like, a trigger or something in your head. He played off of your self-loathing, my eagerness. I would never say no to you. If you thought it was wrong, you absolutely would have told me to stop.”

Dean twists around, frown pronounced around the corners of his mouth. “Wait, are you saying Michael brainwashed me to not feel bad about touching you, uh... intimately, but then, after we touched, I’d go back to normal?”

“Kinda, but he made the guilt worse.” Sam replies gently. The lines around Dean’s mouth sharpen.

“I don’t think he did, make it worse, I mean.”

Sam’s face turns sad. “You know, it could have been a spell. He doesn’t necessarily have to have brainwashed you.”

“Maybe. I dunno, but Sammy, I can’t, I can’t be around you.” Dean finally raises his eyes to Sam’s. An all-nighter full of grief and self-loathing stare back. Dean continues, voice cracking from exhaustion, “Even if all this is worse because of what Michael did, I can’t be around you. Just remembering the other night, Sam, my feelings? I-” Dean’s voice breaks.

Sam takes a step forward but Dean holds up one hand. He faces the wall and covers his eyes with one hand. “Sam, I’ve always loved you, but when, when we were together? I can’t love anyone else as much as—”

Sam motions for him to continue. When the silence spans another moment, Sam tries to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He shrugs it off.

“Dean, how do you think I feel?” He asks brokenly.

“No, Sam, you only feel this way because of me. It’s not the same.”

“Dean, listen—”

“No, Sammy. I can’t do this.” Dean brushes past Sam and hurries out the bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this journal entry has been written for ages. I’m excited to finally use it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	25. Fix Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a spell to fix Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd. i'm tired of writing that. just assume everything I write is unbeta'd

“Dean!" Sam barks after him. The warmth in his chest rises again. He raises his hand and forces a breeze through the room. He imagines the breeze wrapping around Dean and gently tugging (dragging) him back.

"Sam, stop it right now. This isn't funny! Let me go."

"No," Sam replies. His eyes grow hard where a frown cuts across his face. "This curse, or manipulation or whatever could push you to kill yourself. I won't let that happen. You are not leaving my side until we figure out how to stop it. So, come with me to the library. You can either help me research, or I can force you to sit in that chair until I decide to let you have a piss break. Got it?"

"Fine! Jeez." Dean rolls his eyes. Sam releases his hold on Dean. He closes his eyes and practices shutting off his psychic powers.

"Sammy?" Dean asks after a moment.

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Just, takes a minute." Sam finally pulls coldness back into his chest. He rushes out a heavy breath and holds his temples for a long moment. The sores there are fully healed.

“So, you think it’s definitely working, the chakra stuff?” Dean asks as they make their way to the library. Several demons hiss at their retreating forms.

“I guess.”

“Hm.” Dean stares at his feet in thought. “Does that mean you can leave?” 

“I dunno.” Sam scrubs his neck. “Best case scenario, I can fully control my powers and do whatever I want. Worst case, I’ve only found a pause button. We can keep searching. For now, though,” he pauses at the library door, “we are finding a way to fix you.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, okay. Stay safe. Love you.” Sam catches the last bit of Dean’s phone call.

“That Mom?”

“Yeah. Michael moved locations before they were able to meet up with him. They’re following a few hours behind. With Cas back up and running, I dunno, maybe they can catch him.” Dean takes a seat farthest from the door, and Sam. He avoids Sam’s gaze.

“Ok.” Sam fights the frustration in his gut. They can fix it. They can.

Sam keeps flipping through old books stinking of decayed bodily fluids. His irritation and general moodiness increase as the hours pass. When he glances at the stack of books next to Dean, he notices they are hardly opened. Dean stares off into space, chin resting on his fist.

He feels it in his hands first. The very tip top of his fingers are restless, tingly. The tingle spreads down his fingers and into his palms. Heat begins to replace the tingles. Is this his chakras becoming imbalanced, again?

He forces his breathing to slow. _Calm down_ , he whispers to himself. He imagines his chakras as disks floating away from him. He tries to turn their direction, pull them closer, but then Dean slams one of the books shut at his desk. 

“This isn’t helping, Sam! We are never going to find something to help. Stop trying to save me and just—”

“For fuck’s sake, bring me what I need!” Sam shouts. Energy radiates from him in a black wobbling heap. Tendrils of darkness eek toward the stacks and stacks of books. They snap back to Sam just as quickly. One of the tendrils lovingly places a book open before Sam. It fingers a page before gently trailing over Sam’s cheek and disappearing into his chest.

“Uhhh,” Sam and Dean murmur concurrently.

Sam pushes away his uneasiness to read what his powers found.

“Dean, check this out.” Pointing at the paragraph under his fingers, Sam motions with his other hand for Dean to approach.

“Just, you can just read it to me from here, Sam.” Dean shifts back and forth on his feet. Sam wants to punch him again. Instead, he summarizes, bitch-face in full force. 

“This is the spell he used on you. We can reverse it. The counter spell is fairly simple.”

 

* * *

 

 Sam lights the bowl of ingredients on fire. He mutters something about blood and revenge in a dark demonic language. He pours their blood, mixed together, over the flames. The heat dies down in a whoosh, and Dean collapses onto the floor.

“Dean?” Sam carefully approaches Dean, worried about which of his brother’s complexes he is about to encounter.

“Sammy?” His eyes flutter gently to focus on Sam’s face. And...there it is. That stupidly hopeful-loving look he hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Thank God,” Sam mutters and pulls Dean into his arms.

“I, Sammy, I-” Dean pushes back. “How could I do that to you? Why would I kill myself? What a fuckin’ stupid thing to do. It seemed so rational, too. No other options sounded reasonable at time. Oh, Sam, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t—”

“Dean, it’s ok. You’re with me now, ok? It’s ok.” Sam shushes him and tugs him back into his chest as tears pour down his face. Sam feels water tracing gentle tracks down his own face. Dean’s fingers grip tightly into Sam’s shirt. His snotty nose presses roughly against Sam’s collarbone. It’s the most wonderful thing he’s felt in a while.

“Hey,” Dean pulls back and looks up at Sam with squinty, wet eyes, “I’m me right now. Like, me-me. Not possessed- or spelled-me.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know.”

“Meh, it’s fine.”

“No, Dean. I used your body without your consent. I didn’t know you weren’t fully yourself and--”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dean rolls his eyes and places his lips on Sam’s. “For bein’ the king of hell, you sure are a softy.”

“Seriously, Dean. I can’t just shove this away. I have all these powers and I couldn’t even tell the person I love the most was being manipulated? You were under a spell, there were sure signs but I ignored them so I could get laid and”

“You done?”

“Wait, I—”

“Shut up. You. Me. Bed. Go.” Dean stands and pulls Sammy to sitting.

“But, we really need to talk!”

“Nope. We read journals. I love you and want to have dirty nasty sex with you. You love me and want to have kinky butt sex with me. We’re set. Come on.” Dean places an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Really, Sammy, I was me, before. I was just a more suicidal version of me. It was me you had sex with, Sam. No one else. So, I feel great. Let’s go do this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke the next "chapter" into two parts. I'll go ahead and post part one since I've been slacking in posting. 
> 
> My new goal is to finish by around 30 chapters, but who knows with me. I just keep going and going and going...


	26. Sexy? Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're naked but talking but almost trying to sexy?

Dean can see the uncertainty lingering in Sam’s eyes. Yeah, fuck that.

He grabs Sam’s arm and drags him back to the room. He slams the door shut behind them and pounces. He is sure his fingers claw into Sam’s pecs as he drags his mouth down via lapels. Sam might grunt at the contact. Dean doesn’t give a rat’s ass. He feels fuckin’ wonderful. He and Sam are going to legit fuck or die trying.

Sam, however, is not quite up to plan. His hands hang loosely at his sides. His mouth only passively replies to Dean’s touches. Perhaps another tactic.

He removes his mouth from Sam and stares up into grieving hazel eyes. 

“Sammy?”

“What if the spell didn’t work? What if having sex means you’ll try to kill yourself again? What if I don’t have a vision in time to save you? Dean, sex doesn’t mean more to me than your well-being.” 

Okay, so when he says it that way. 

“Sam, it’s gone. Whatever the fuck Michael did, it’s gone. I can feel the difference. I feel like me, ‘k? And, no. We don’t gotta have sex now. I know that. I’ve been thinking about it for years, though, and I’ve, just, I’ve wanted this, Sam.” Something in Dean’s face feels soft, vulnerable. Sam raises one tentative finger and brushes at Dean’s brow. 

“As long as I get to handcuff you to the bed afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Immediacy past, Dean now wants tenderness. He slowly steps back from Sam and removes his flannel. Sam mimics his actions. Their shoes, then socks slowly peel off. Step by careful step brings them closer to the bedsprings.

Grief still lines Sam’s eyes. His brow furrows. He’s teetering.

Dean slowly raises his shirt above his head. He tosses it to the side, but not before Sam’s eyes trace the lines of sinew along his shoulders, chest and abdomen. Next time they do this, he’ll make all sorts of jokes about Magic Mike. Right now, though, Sammy needs to feel in the moment.

When Sam makes no move to remove his shirt, Dean decides to get himself striped first. He slowly unbuckles his jeans, hoping Sam doesn’t run away at the tented fabric near his hands. He slides the belt out of the belt loops. Hesitantly, he wraps it in a lose coil and sets it on the nightstand.

“For later,” he whispers. Sam’s eyes widen but still he doesn’t move closer.

Dean slides his jeans off his legs, ever mindful of the gaze following his movements. He pools them at his feet before kicking them off to the right. He checks Sam’s attention. His eyes are flitting all over Dean’s body, chest to face to crotch to feet to face. He swallows.

Dean pauses with his fingers in his waistband. “You sure?” 

Sam nods and pulls his T-shirt up and over his head. He unbuckles his belt and slides out of his jeans.

Sweat drips down the side of Dean’s neck. When did he get warm? The room isn’t particularly uncomfortable. His boner straining against his underwear catches his attention for a moment. That might explain it.

Clothes removed, Dean examines Sam no less thoroughly. Muscular shoulders hold a tense posture before him. Tight abs. Strong neck. Tan skin begging to be licked. 

Dean holds out one hand, inviting. Sam slowly approaches. Their fingertips meet and pause. Dean focuses on that touch. Calluses. Rough skin. He slides his hand forward to carefully tap his fingers on Sam’s palm. He draws a circle. A sniff draws his attention back up to Sam’s face.

“Sam?” Dean wipes at a tear falling down his cheek. Sam bites his lip and leans into the touch. “This vision messed with you, huh?”

“After all we’ve been through, all the times you’ve died, you never did it yourself. Dean, I—” Dean interrupts by pulling him into a rough hug. “I can’t get the picture of you on the floor, bloody, out of my head. You, Dean, you were still holding a broken piece of glass in your hand. The demons were all around you, some laughing. And, the grief, it just, it exploded out of me. And, damn, it felt good. I felt powerful. I could destroy the world in revenge for making our lives miserable. For fucking us up.”

“Sam, I understand, but it was the spell, and we broke it—”

“Dean, you don’t get it!” Sam shoves him back, voice high and tight. “I can still do it! I’ve always been able to do it. One push in the wrong direction and I’m, I’m the monster Dad feared I’d become.”

“Come on. It’s not like that—”

“No?” Sam cocks his head to the side. His eyes fill with darkness, not yet black but shadowed. Dean steps back as a grimace crosses Sam’s face. Dean flies back onto the bed, bed springs squeaking when he lands. More tendrils of darkness fly out from Sam’s chest and wrap around Dean’s arms, tying him down spread eagle.

“Look at me, Dean! This isn’t the demon blood. The demon blood only activates my chakras, helps me channel my energy. I never needed it. I only needed to learn to do it myself. This is who I am and ugh...” His rolls his head around his shoulders, “This is wonderful. Powerful. I could do anything.”

A softer look falls over his face. “But, I see the fear in your eyes, and I can’t.” Dean hadn’t noticed all the lights dimming until Sam reigns the darkness back in. The room returns to a soft light. His hands are freed.

Sam collapses on the bed, covering his face with the back of his arm. Dean turns to his side and considers him for a moment.

“Now that’s outta your system, can we have sex now?”

Sam snorts. “Dude, seriously?”

“You’re a fuckin’ drama queen. Yeah, I know. You’re all-powerful and whatnot. You could be some mighty powerful demon king dude, but you ain’t. So, come on, top or bottom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes: I don't like bondage and I don't care who tops or bottoms. I'd decided on one then decided on another then switched and I dunno. The next part needs a bit of TLC so hopefully it won't take too long to get it up.  
> (I wasn't even trying to use innuendo, I'm cracking up)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I appreciate you guys so much! <3


	27. Sexy? Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn part 2

“Does it matter?” Sam falls back in exasperation. Dean shrugs.

“Well, I mean, you’re currently acting like a bottom but you seem to like to dominate, so top?”

“Dean.” He turns toward him enough to ensure full-on bitch face. Dean squints in silence considering him. Sam licks his lips when he notices Dean’s gaze lingering there.

“Yeah, you’re gonna fuck me this time.” Dean nods in certainty for the two of them and reaches for the lube. “You wanna watch?”

“Hey, how about a bit of foreplay, Dean, huh?” Sam smacks the back of Dean’s head and grabs the lube bottle from him. He chucks it onto the pillow with a whispered, “ _Jeez_.”

Dean smirks as he relaxes back into the pillows, hands behind his head. Sam looms over him, hesitating.

“Well, take care of me then, bro.” Dean runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Sam watches the movement, the smooth bulge. His throat doesn’t seem to work anymore. His hands rest on each side of Dean’s head.

Sam huffs out a breath that finds its way puffed into Dean’s mouth.

“Bleh, that’s weird. I breathed it in and everything,” Dean scrunches his nose and runs his hands up Sam’s biceps. He pauses with a smile quirking his mouth, “Hey, that was one of your things!”

Sam cocks his head, “What?”

“In your journal, there was something about breathing breaths.”

“You remembered?” Sam feels heat rising in his cheeks. Dean boops his nose with a nod. “Yeah, uh, it’s Othello, Shakespeare. ‘They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.’”

A shit-eating grin takes over Dean’s face as he blows a spit-laden breath into Sam’s face.

“Dean!” Sam shakes his head and leans back. Dean holds onto his biceps and simply smiles at the reprimand, still blowing at his face. “Stop it!”

Sam covers his mouth to stop the attack. Dean’s eyes go squinty and crinkled. Sam feels wetness over his palm.

“Oh my god, Dean. Are you five?” Sam rolls off of Dean and wipes his hand on the sheet. “Seriously?”

Dean laughs. “Should have let me have the lube.”

“If you make such a mess with your spit, I can’t imagine what you’d do with lube.”

“You didn’t complain last time.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t as worried about it the last time.”

“Ok, ok. I’m done. Come here.”

Dean pulls Sam back over by his shoulder. Sam leans forward and tilts his mouth onto Dean’s. He presses lightly, lips closed. Dean moves slightly under him, mouth slightly open. His tongue flicks out between Sam’s, begging for entry. Dean gently pries Sam’s mouth open. Sam submits, for now. He shifts his head to the side, opening wider. Dean licks into Sam, rubbing their tongues together. He flips his tongue against Sam’s. A grunt escapes his mouth as he practically chokes.

Sam pulls back to catch his breath. Dean flashes a naughty grin before continuing wet kisses down his neck. Sam tries to regain his balance. He throws one leg over Dean. His knees press into Dean’s hips. Dean’s hands absentmindedly press and trail across Sam’s back and sides. Sam feels his hips begin moving forward over Dean’s lap. He erection, which had died down during their talk, is making itself known. At a particularly hard suck at the juncture between neck and shoulder, Sam jerks his hips hard into Dean’s. Dean grunts at the impact and moves his tongue over the hickie. Sam tilts his head back. Dean uses the angle to wrap his lips around a nipple.

“Ah, fuck, Dean.” Sam pumps his hips faster. Dean raises up, hips meeting Sam’s. Heat meets between them as cocks collide. “Ah!”

“God, Sam, you are so easy,” Dean pants. He drags Sam down by his hair and mashes their mouths back together. “I could make you come from this, couldn’t I?”

Sam might whine. Or not.

“I wouldn’t have to touch you. Just keep rubbing until you shoot in your underwear like a fuckin’ teenager. God, Sammy,” Dean pauses his hips and shoves his tongue back down his throat.

“‘K, this enough foreplay? You’re gonna be too far gone to fuck me if we keep this up.” Dean reaches for the lube on the pillow next to them. “You gonna do this, or should I?”

“Of course I’m gonna do it. Shut up and turn over.” Dean flops over to his belly. Sam shoves his thighs apart with shaking hands.

“Hey, take it easy. I would not do well with a colostomy bag.” They both shudder at the thought.

“Ok, ok,” Sam mutters softly. He kneels down for a better angle. Sam kneads greedily into the muscles. “God, did you know your ass is perfect?”

Dean chuckles, “So I’ve been told, but I’m not here for a massage.” 

Sam takes the cue. He traces a line of freckles along the pale skin. He runs his hand slowly down the crack, flooded by the intimacy of the moment. Want pounds against his sternum. And through his cock. Can’t forget about that particular organ. Especially not the way it’s calling for him to shove in dry and hold Dean down as he screams in combined agony and pleasure.

He wouldn’t do that. But he absolutely craves it.

He circles over the tight muscle. Dean jumps slightly but quickly relaxes again. Sam squirts lube over his fingers and gently works to loosen the ring. Finally, the tip of his index finger presses in. Dean stoically remains silent as Sam gently swirls his finger around, coaxing the muscle to relax. Bit by bit, he inserts his finger farther in. He wiggles about.

“You can do another,” Dean whispers.

“Is this ok?” Sam tentatively asks. He couldn’t stop now if he tried. Dean mutters an affirmation. Sam makes use of his overactive saliva glands. He mixes lube and spit and works the second finger in. Dean tenses and blows out a hard breath.

Sam shushes him softly and plants a sweet kiss on his cheek. He feels more than hears a laugh work its way down Dean’s body.

When two fingers move comfortably in and out, Sam starts feeling light-headed. Or, maybe he only realizes he is. He needs his dick in this ass ASAP. To distract himself and his aching dick, Sam searches for Dean’s prostate.

At the first touch, Dean immediately clenches down. His back arches and Sam has to move one hand to squeeze the base of his cock. All the tight muscles of Dean’s back moving as one…

“Fuck!” Sam whispers, “You’re so hot, Dean!”

“Mmgphmm!” Dean exclaims in return. Sam takes that to mean Dean is finding this endeavor to be quite pleasurable. He speeds up the process to maneuver in a third finger. When he finds a rhythm, he only hits Dean’s prostate every other couple pumps. Dean devolves into mindless cursing.

“Sam, get your fucking cock in my ass or I’m going to fucking tie you to the bed and do it for you, you fucking cunt! Ah! Fuck me and quick fucking off! There, that spot, don’t stop, you little fucker, ah!”

“Hold on, hold on. I’m coming. Stop wiggling, Dean. God, stop moving!” Sam pulls away from Dean. He lifts Dean’s hips from the bed but he won’t stay still long enough for Sam to push in. With bruising fingers, he forcibly holds Dean still. Before Dean can move again, he shoves his cock in Dean’s now no longer tight hole.

Sam expected Dean to howl, or scream, or mewl. Instead, his breath rushes from his body. He immediately pushes back against Sam and sets his own pace.

“Some bottom you are,” Sam pants between thrusts.

“Same to you.”

Back and forth. Faster and faster. In and out. Sam finds himself counting, _one, two, three, one two, three_. His face flushes, his eyes cross. Dean shakes under him.

“‘M close,” he spits out.

Sam reaches around and squeezes his brother’s dick. Dean chokes and bangs his head against the headboard. Sam moans with the tightening around his own cock. They come together, all heat and love, and collapse on the bed.


	28. Demons Give Gift Baskets?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem with Michael is resolved behind the scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: two minor characters die off-screen (extra warning: it's Nick and AU!Bobby)
> 
> Why? Because I don't like them so I murdered them. Mua. ha. ha. 
> 
> Really, it just worked out that way. I didn't want everybody to live and I didn't like where I had AU!Bobby going. So. Yeah. Byebye.

“The belt wasn’t necessary, bitch,” Dean complains. Sam grunts as a kick lands on his shin.

 “Hey, you told me I could,” Sam whines in reply. He lazily reaches up to release his brother’s arms.

“I didn’t mean all night! God, my hands are numb. I’ll never be able to hold a gun again!” He rubs at his wrists and twists uncomfortably out of bed. Sam stretches back against the pillows, eyes slowly appraising his brother’s ass.

“You’ll be fine. Quit being a baby.” Sam winks as Dean flips him the bird. He bends down to rummage in his pockets. He pulls out his phone and jumps at what he sees on the screen.

“Fuck. Sixteen missed calls and thirty-seven texts.”

“What?” Sam hops out of bed and reaches for his own phone.

“They—” Dean looks up from his phone. Sam makes eye contact.

“They did it!” Sam pulls Dean into a tight hug. Dean leans into it and breathes out a sigh into Sam’s clavicle. “Dean, Michael’s gone. I can’t believe…”

Sam pushes Dean far enough away to smile softly down at him. Dean strains up to press his lips to Sam’s.

“Come on. Let’s call Mom, get the whole story.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods. He presses the call button, “Mom? Hey, yeah. We’re fine. Wait, let me put you on speaker.”

“ _Dean?_ ” Mary’s voice wobbles tinnily around the room.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m here. I’m glad you’re okay. How is everyone else doing? Jack? Cas?”

“ _They’re ok. Mostly. Jack is a little…Well, you’ll see when you see him. Cas is banged up. He’s in heaven putting things back into order._ ”

“‘Back into order’? What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“ _Well, we, uh, had a bit of a battle. Michael didn’t go willingly._ ”

“Didn’t think he would,” Sam mutters. Dean nods in agreement.

“ _We finally surrounded him in Omaha._ ”

“Hell of a place for a showdown.” Dean raises his brows, lines cutting hard into the skin.

“ _You don’t know the half of it. Were prepared, though. Well, as prepared as we could be. Charlie found the least populated part of town we could use with the fewest casualties. We created a series of concentric circles of holy oil. We were able to trap him in the largest circle, about a block in diameter, then force him back into increasingly smaller ones. The last one doubled as an entry into heaven that opened directly into the cage. Jack and Cas were trapped with him but Jack was able to get them out with Rowena’s help._ ”

“That’s amazing, Mom. What about the others?”

A long silence before Mary speaks again. “ _We couldn’t save Nick. He…By the time Michael had found him, he was…he was killing people. He couldn’t stand being without Lucifer. We had the opportunity to save him, but we…_ ”

“Mom?”

“ _He’s trapped in the cage with Michael. We chose to leave him there.”_

“Mom! How could you? He deserved the chance to--”

“ _Sam, don’t you dare. We gave him a chance. Several. He killed, he killed Bobby, Sam._ ” Mary’s voice breaks over the line.

“Sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

“ _I know you didn’t know._ ” She pauses for a long moment. “ _The group is heading back to the bunker as we speak. But, I-I’m going to travel a little. Hunt. This whole thing has been…I need to be alone for a while._ ”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes like a breathless fish. Dean takes the lead, stony faced. “Ok. Be safe. We love you, Mom. If you need anything, please call us.”

“ _I will. Love you, boys._ ” They stare at the black screen. Sam turns away from Dean and chucks his phone on the bed.

“She _always_ does this,” he grumbles.

“Wait, what?”

Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean. “She always leaves! She couldn’t stop and see us first?”

“Whoa,” Dean steps forward, face filled with disbelief, hands raised in a general WTF gesture. “Sam, were you listening? You did hear what she was saying, right?”

Dean’s eyes widen dangerously. Sam feels himself leaning backward. “Well, yeah. I mean, it sucks that Bobby—”

“Sam, why are you whining about her leaving? She’s grieving. She needs space.”

“But, we’ve been through a lot. We need, I need—”

“No, don’t put that on her.” Dean shakes his head, voice trembling in anger. “You sound just like when you were little and Dad left us in some Podunk town for a hunt. This isn’t the same. We don’t need Mom, not when we have each other.”

“But--”

“God, Sammy, all we’ve been through in the last week, and you’re stuck on this one little thing?” He releases a sigh and closes the distance between them. “So what if Mom goes to who-knows-where for who-knows-how long? Give her a break. The bad guy is locked up and we’re allowed to escape this hell-hole. Come on. Pack up and let’s get the hell outta here.”

“I—Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. Let’s go.”

Dean tosses a few shirts at him. He stuffs them in his bag, chagrined. Dean makes sure to grab his journal. Sam sneaks his into his bag, an idea forming.

They exit their room, prepared for hostility. A horde of demons waits for them. The squirrely one steps forward and hands over a gift basket.

“We thank you for your stay, my king. Please visit as frequently as you desire. I will always be in your—” Dean interrupts his speech with a well-placed right hook.

“Anyone else?” The demons scamper away in every direction.

They’re almost to the exit when Dean asks, “What’s in there anyway?”

Sam peeks through the basket with a snort. “Pineapple, lube and condoms.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Dean deadpans.

“At least it’s not body parts or bodily fluids. If you think about it, it’s practically sweet for demons.” Sam scrunches up in nose in something resembling empathy. Dean growls.

“It’s fuckin’ weird. They need to learn to mind their own goddamned business.” He shoves open the doors and stops in the sunlight. “Where the fuck is my car?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're winding down, for realsies. I have the ending written, just a few more plot points I would like to resolve. I think about thirty this time for my chapter end count. Thanks for all those who have read this! I've really enjoyed reading your comments, encouragement and opinions. I meant for this to be a 5k piece of heartbreak and it got away from me and got weird. But, I really like parts of this story. It's been fun. School is super crazy right now. Hopefully by the time the semester ends I'll be able to finish this puppy. 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading. We're almost done!
> 
> (if I missed any really important plot points, please point them out so I can do something about it :D)
> 
> AND TELL ME WHEN I MISS TAGS! I'M AN IDIOT AND FORGET TO CHECK STUFF LIKE THAT!!!


	29. Fluff Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean return to the bunker and fluff with a dash of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for some OOC fluff? :3

“Sam! Dean!” Jack runs up to them, all smiles and dimples, innocence billowing out from him in happy rays. “We did it! We trapped Michael in heaven, just like we planned! I mean, we lost Nick and that was almost sad, but Bobby died and now Charlie doesn’t like us and Rowena won’t answer my calls and Mary and Ketch disappeared, but you guys are back and the Apocalypse people went back to their world and Cas is still in heaven keeping the angels in order and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, kid. You okay?” Dean squeezes Jack’s shoulder and stares intently into his eyes.

“I don’t like being alone here.” Jack rubs his hands together, shifting. Sam pulls him into a big hug.

“Hey, Jack. It’s okay. You did a great job. We are so proud of you! Look at what all of you were able to do. You saved the world!”

“Yeah, I, uh…” Jack pulls back from Sam. He takes a hesitant step back.

“Jack?” Sam asks.

“Talk to us, man. What’s going on?” Dean steps forward. Sam places a hand gently on his arm when he realizes Jack is toeing further away.

Focus directly on the floor, Jack runs a hand through his hair, and spits out, “Ireadthejournals.”

“Uhhhh,” Sam and Dean look at each other, then back at Jack. Sam takes the lead.

“Uh, so what are you feeling about what you read?”

“I don’t know. I feel like it should be bad. I-I’m embarrassed, but, it’s not like the angels care anymore, so I don’t, I don’t know. And, I was, I was wondering if I could, if I could go stay with Jody for awhile until I, you know, until I understand better?” Folding and unfolding his hands, Jack looks cautiously up at the brothers with a sadly-questioning tone. 

“I, um, yeah. Of course. Take the time you need. Want us to call Jody?” 

“I already did. Um, so…” He reaches behind the table behind him to grab a packed bag. He waves awkwardly at them before disappearing out the bunker entrance.

* * *

“Hey, pancakes. Come eat.”

 “Out in a minute!” Sam turns half-heartedly at his brother’s pounding at the bathroom door, water sluicing across his chest. He breathes out, screaming at his chakras to calm. His rage—no, grief—at Jack’s sudden departure weighs heavily on his shoulders. The steady drumming of the beads of water before his heart draws his focus deep within. He imagines the chakras. Those damn chakras, and cools their yellow flame, ignoring their loneliness, their losses. Friends gone without a word. Shame. Betrayal. Frustration. Doubt. He carefully buries each one, the dark feelings following the chakras’ descent into the cold ground. Something resembling peace, a pale blue cord, gently wraps around his hands, his chest. He welcomes the embrace and opens his eyes.

The knob gives easily under his hand. The water putters to a slow drip, then stops. He holds out his palm to let it patter against it a moment. _Drop_. _Plop-drop_. He smiles. 

* * *

“Hey, took you long enough. You ‘k?” Dean passes a half-stack before a wet-haired Sam with concerned eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course, just adjusting.” Sam replies. He continues picking at his food. Dean watches him suspiciously. “Really, Dean. I’m as okay as I can be facing rejection from all the people we love and care about. But, I’m with you, so I will be okay.”

“Hm.” He sits across from Sam, legs crossed, one elbow against the table, scarfing his pancakes. Silence passes for a slight moment. "Hey, so what did Ketch ask for? You know, in return for helping you? Oh, wait lemme guess." Dean pauses, finger at his lips. "Active camouflage technology, you know, like the predator. No, no, no, a…a neuralyzer! Cliché. Whoa-ho, a point-of-view gun. That's it, huh, huh?"

Dean has that silly grin on his face, the shit-eating one Sam hasn't seen in so long. He hides his answering grin behind his best bitch face.

"What would Ketch have to do with a point-of-view gun?"

"I dunno. Get that stick outta his ass for one."

"Shut up, Dean. It wasn't anything like that." Sam rolls his eyes and cuts his pancakes. Dean pretends not to notice.

"Bitch." He huffs under his breath shoving one-third of a pancake into his mouth.

"Jerk." Sam replies softly. Dean snorts and chews his bite a moment.

Dean holds his peace for a whole minute before asking, "Demon-killing devices?" 

"Dude, no. He—” Sam hesitates, “he wanted another hellhound."

"Ugh, lame." He scrunches his nose. Sam chuckles.

"It's not like I wanted to give him one, but, he had a point. He promised he wouldn't use it to make deals or hurt innocents. And besides, I had to give him something. There's also nothing saying we won’t kill it later. Or him."

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I expected something, I dunno, unique or something, but I guess that makes sense.”

“Well, he wanted to be the new king, so at least I did something right.” His plate shoves away to clink against his coffee cup. It sloshes and spills over onto the table. Sam begins to stand.

Dean’s attention shifts from his food to his brother before Sam can grab a cloth. “Sammy, you have done more right than keepin’ a bad guy from runnin’ Hell. Hell,” he grabs his hand, “you’ve saved my hide more times than I can count. Sure you mess up, who hasn’t? That doesn’t mean you don’t have worth, Sammy.”

Dean slowly rises to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with his idiot. He cups his face and presses their brows together. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Sam snorts and pushes a millimeter away. “You know, I should be saying the same thing to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re journal, Dean. All the things you were struggling with? It all ties back to the same thing. You don’t think you have worth, but for some reason you think I do, so you do everything you can to keep me alive. Do you think I don’t feel the same for you? So, I will start valuing my self-worth if you do.” 

“Dude, this is like the biggest fucking chick-flick moment we have ever had in our entire lives. Really?”

“You ain’t getting away with that, Dean. I know you. Come on.”

“Fine. I’ll try if you try.”

“That’s not great, but, it’s a start, huh?” Sam pulls him closer, nose resting at the small hairs on the back of his neck. He breathes in deeply, a smile on his lips. On an exhale, Dean shifts under him.

“Tickles,” he murmurs.

“Hm, you know what?”

“What?”

“I know several of your tickle spots.”

“Oh my God, Sam. No! We’re too old…for this…shit!” Dean yells and places a poor attempt of a punch against Sam’s gut. Sam finds a way to dig his fingers into his ribs anyway, and soon, they’re breathless, tangled together on the kitchen floor.

“My room or yours?”

“My bed is so much better.” Sam laughs and chases him to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more journals or smut. I'm tired and just wanted to finish this before I abandoned it.
> 
> Also, I detest bad Jack. No bad Jack or (*spoiler*) dead Jack. He can go live happily on the other sides of the States in pure sweetness. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	30. Fluff Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet ending. Sam and Dean talk and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More OOC fluff but this is basically the original ending I've had written for months. So, enjoy.

Naked and satiated, Sam stretches in Dean’s bed before throwing on some clothes. He stands behind Dean and runs his fingers through his hair. Dean ignores him to inspect the weapons sitting on the desk in front of him. The skin mag sits next to Dean’s elbow, begging to be opened. Sam smiles and reaches for the book. Dean snorts when he picks it.

“Who woulda thought?”

“Hm?” A sweet smile parts Dean’s lips. He kisses along the inside of Sam’s forearm.

“We’d get so far from you writing in this.” Sam continues flipping through the journal. “You know, I’m glad you never talked to me about wanting to stick your dick in my ass because I’m fairly certain I would have choked.”

“Shut up,” Dean laughs and lightly pushes him away. Sam steps back to sit on the bed and gently caresses the book 

“But still, I’m glad I had this, a piece of you. I was so sure you were gone. It helped seeing you weren’t, you know, completely gone.”

With emotions making an appearance, Dean returns to his cold guns. Quiet fills the room, except for the sound of pages turning and metallic clicking. Sam flips to the end of the journal.

"Hey, this page you ripped out, what did it say? The last bit, ‘I should never—’ What did you say after that?"

"Wha—?" Dean looks briefly back at Sam before returning to his task. "Oh, nothin' man. Same as the other pages."

Dean continues cleaning and hoping his silence discourages his brother. Sam ignores his cues, rolls his eyes and continues.

"Are you embarrassed? What else could you be embarrassed about?” He snorts and points. “Here, on the page before, you're doing your guilt-trip thing—"

“Hey! I was not!” Dean chucks his dirty rag at him with a glare.

“Don't be sensitive, that's what it is. You're talking about this stuff, then, 'I should never—' You cut off. What did you put after that?" Eyes lacking judgement, filled only with curiosity, trace Dean’s face.

"Nothing, Sam. I’m not embarrassed! It's, it’s nothing. Forget about it." Dean grabs the magazine away from Sam and hides it back in its secret drawer. "I wrote something stupid, and it's nothing, okay? Drop it."

Scowling, Sam sits at the edge of the bed and watches Dean pace. He picks at the comforter.

"Stop lookin' at me like that!" The speed of Dean's pacing increases. Sam watches him all the more intently, brows drawing closer and closer together until a sigh of understanding escapes his lips.

"You think you should never have pulled me from Stanford," Sam whispers. He hears the roughness of his own voice. Dean stops, back to Sam. "I mean you said, but, you still think you should have left me there. You think everything would be different if, if you hadn't. God, Dean! You idiot!"

Sam jumps. He punches Dean in the shoulder to turn him around. "Listen, Azazel had Jess murdered to get me into action. No matter what you did, it was fate we’d end up here. Always."

"That's not what I wrote!" Dean pushes back. A stray tear falls from his left eye. Red-rimmed grief avoids Sam's gaze. "I never should have, I never—"

He turns quickly from Sam, shoulders hitching.

"I never should have traded my life for yours," he spits out. Sam steps back, a sharp pain digging into his sternum.

"What?"

"I wrote that I should—that I should have let you die. I should never have made the deal with the crossroads demon. I should—I should have moved on, f-found Cassie, or Lisa, or anyone, lived with them quietly the rest of my days. I should have—I should have died with you. Then, we wouldn't have suffered through the apocalypse, Lucifer, shit, any of it. We'd be at peace, livin' in peace. But, no, I had to go and fuck it all up. Fuck you up. And, and—"

Sam's fist smacks high on Dean's cheekbone.

"Shut up!" He screams. Thick streams trail down the swelling on Dean’s face. Wetness dribbles from Sam's eyes. "Shut up, Dean! Shut up, shut up! It's not true!"

His hands flail of their own volition, hits landing over Dean’s torso, his jaw, his shoulder, none of them landing solidly. Dean doesn't try to defend himself. One hand clings tangled in Sam's shirt. Nails scratch along his chest and sense returns.

"Sorry, sorry, De, I didn't, I shouldn't—" He tries to pull away but Dean keeps his grip on him. Snot drips down his lips.

"Sam, I ripped it out."

"Yeah, well…"

"No, listen. I ripped it out because I knew it wasn't true. I knew I was lyin' to myself. I was tryin' to wash away all this guilt trapped in me. I would kill myself before I'd ever lay a hand on you."

"But, you're right. If you had just let me die—" Dean grabs his head and tucks it into his neck.

"No, Sammy. Someone would have raised you from the dead to be Lucifer's vessel. I probably woulda said yes to Michael right away at the promise of your life. Shit, I would have started the apocalypse years sooner. But, Sammy? Where we are, what we've done to get here? I would never trade anything to take that away, ok? I'm proud of us, Sammy. I will always be proud of us. We save lives. We kick the bad guys’ asses. We do good. We always keep fighting. Alright?"

Dean dries the tears around Sam's eyes and wipes a hand over his own face. He presses a gentle kiss to Sam's mouth.

"Now, enough of this shit. No more chick flick moments. I ain't writing in anymore diaries and we ain't havin' this discussion again. Ya hear me?"

Sam shutters out a shaky laugh and shakes his head with a smile.

"I hear ya, Dean."

"Come on. I need a beer. You need a beer. Let's go get some beers." Dean grabs Sam's hand and leads him to the kitchen. Sam smiles and lets his brother pull him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As my first long fic, I'm kind of proud I was able to make it this far. I apologize for any plot holes. I've forgotten half of this fic already. I also apologize for losing Sam and Dean's voices. I have learned so much writing this and have enjoyed so much of their story. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 I appreciate your comments and kudos and kind words. Lotsa love to you all!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Journals from Message in a Skin Mag](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984176) by [Idkitiswhatitis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idkitiswhatitis/pseuds/Idkitiswhatitis)




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